Made in Balmorra
by Dominique Sotto
Summary: Yvolgar has so much boyish and brash in him that he makes Vette look wise in her years. This merchant princeling thought Sith grand. He thought the Code to be an exact match to his aspirations. That's before he found out the place the Empire accords to his people. Before he was given another Twi'lek as a slave, before he met a young officer struggling to preserve his dignity...
1. Korriban: The Mementos

Korriban: The Mementos

It was early enough in the day that the air of Korriban was not pulsating with the heat yet. A young Twi'lek perched on a railing surrounding a high platform overlooking the Wilds, his back turned to the Fleet shuttle. He was sketching in the datapad, looking up from his work to give the valley lined with colossal monuments a long, attentive glance. Sometimes he dropped his datapad on his knees and stretched. Whenever that happened, a smile would inevitably find its way to his lips.

A second Twi'lek, a young girl with a heavy slave collar around her neck, emerged from the shuttle. "It will be another hour, my lord," she said to the man. He turned towards her, wobbled, whooped, and jumped off the railing. The datapad fell down.

"Time to stretch our legs then, Vette." The girl nodded: "Yes, my lord. The Sith business, and all that. Rrgh."

"Well, what should we do?" the Twi'lek mused, turning his head this way and that. "This fine valley offers us a wholesale slaughter of giant poisonous slugs, wild rushing tulaks and an assortment of possessed, insane and deluded acolytes… Hmm."

"Maybe the junk droids in a shady tomb, my lord?" Vette suggested. "Don't want to get sunburned, you know."

"Ah, Vette, Vette. Take a good look. The sands are red. The statues are red. The well-born Sith are red. My skin is far too green. Maybe with a bit of tan I can wing it."

Vette made a face: "Sure thing, my lord. You'll blend right in."

The Sith lord chuckled: "And if I happen on someone blind, deaf and completely devoid of Sensitivity, he'd absolutely mistake me for a pure-blood. Too bad all such are dead on arrival here. What to do, what to do… "

Vette picked up the datapad; it turned on when she touched it, showing a half-decent sketch of the statues. "Huh. A keepsake, my lord? Afraid you'll forget this place once we're gone?"

"Never! It'll forget me though… Unless… Oh, yes, Vette, I got it! We're going to leave something behind for Korriban to remember us by! Can you climb?"

"Ha! Can I climb? Can I climb?! If the Pirate Lord Drayden were alive he'd tell you that I- Hey, where are you-"

The Sith Lord swung over the railing and started scaling the cliff. Vette followed promptly.

"My Lord, wouldn't someone… well, kill us? For climbing the old fogies?" she asked after they've traversed from the sandstone wall to a shoulder of the ancient lord. Which one specifically Vette couldn't tell. Maybe Tulak… Whatever. They were all the same to her.

The Sith laughed so hard, he'd almost lost his footing: "Sure they would. Desecrating the monuments – not good. But they have to spot us first! They are so intent on killing each-other, they'd never look _up_ in a million years! Now, how's your memory, Vette?"

"What?" Vette asked, tightening her grip on the rock, and cursing because she did look down when the Lord prompted her. Stupid slave collar. "My memory is great, my lord. Like Nok Drayden would-"

"Then how come you can't remember three syllables?" and without awaiting her response, the Twi'lek pulled himself up and grabbed a proud facial appendage of the stone Sith. Another pull and he was standing on the lip. He extended his hand to Vette, but she swung herself and was by his side without his help. He gave her thumbs up.

"Aha! I think we are good. Right here…"

The Sith Lord unsheathed his lightsabre and started burning the letters into the proud jaw of the statue.

"Three syllables, Vette. So, pay attention. Y-VOL-GAR…" he leaned back to appreciate his handiwork. "Got it?" Satisfied, he continued with his graffiti: and VETTE….

Vette started giggling.

"That's a serious Sith business!" Lord Yvolgar gave her a wink and finished his inscription with: BEEN HERE.

"Take that, Naga Sadow!" Yvolgar exclaimed and tried to kick the statue's nose. He succeeded in scraping some (still green) skin off his knuckles. Vette rolled her eyes. Yvolgar ouched, sucked at the bleeding hand, and turned to his companion: "Did you say the shuttle was leaving in an hour?"

"Yep!" Vette said. Then added after a pause, since he inclined his head to one shoulder, and cocked an eyebrow, in a show of exaggerated expectation: "lord Yvolgar."

"Better," he said nodding. "Lose the 'lord' next time. I'm a Lord to slaves and the like."

Vette run her finger along the top of her collar. He bit his lip. "Sorry. My bad. Now, let's make the shuttle."

"What, we climb down real fast?" Vette looked at the sheer cliff extending forever below them. "We took the better part of the hour to get here."

Yvolgar pointed at his boots: "Brand new, patented rocket boots. Prepare to be amazed!"

Vette started to throw her hands up, but wisely clung back to the rock. "Rocket boots?! Have you gotten too much sun after all… erm… lord Yvolgar?"

"Vette, those were made at my Da's factory, the super-secret, the best of the best prototype. Add my being a progeny in the Force, and we _are_ going to make the shuttle. You'll see." Before she could object, Lord Yvolgar grabbed his slave around the waist, eyeballed the distance, yelped: "Hold tight and keep your lekku out of my face!"

…and leaped.

Right to the platform. They rolled together a few times, before coming to a full stop. It took a couple of moments for Vette to scramble back to her feet. Lord Yvolgar was already standing, dusting the sand off his pants. He pointed at the shuttle. "RUN!" The ramp started to retreat as they leaped again… just leapt this time. Yvolgar waved their Fleet passes at the steward droid who wore the usual look of resignation and interminable sadness. The droid showed them in.

As the red planet of Korriban fell back, and the black skies opened up, Vette laughed: "Korriban won't forget us now, lord Yvolgar."

"Not a chance!" Lord Yvolgar grinned at her delightedly, dropped into his seat and propped his boots on another one. He gave the still steaming footwear a loving look.

"Made in Balmorra, Miss. Just like me."


	2. Shuttle: And a Cup of Bantha Milk

2. Shuttle: And a Cup of Bantha Milk

Lord Yvolgar enjoyed the view out of the window for all of five minutes. Then he fidgeted restlessly in his seat and turned his attention to the other passengers. An odd-looking pair stood out – a heavily pierced and tattooed Rattatki who never sat down and his companion a huge—

"Hey, where are you from, friend?" Yvolgar waved across the aisle at the mountain of muscle, gems and color. The Mountain replied in a polite, musical but completely incomprehensible way. The Rattataki said very slowly, as if speaking was difficult to him:

"He is Khem Val, the Dashade, a proud servant of Tulak Hord."

"Hmm," said Lord Yvolgar, "Your parents must have had big plans for you, naming you after the Dark Lord like that."

"I am not him," the Rattataki responded in the same slow fashion, "I call myself Ruvvoy."

"He is a servant of _the_ Tulak Hord? The guy many thousands years dead? Now, that's quite a find, Ruvvoy!" Yvolgar whistled appreciatively.

"I gained him in a trial at the Academy," Ruvvoy explained. Yvolgar glanced at Vette quickly.

"Hey," she said, "You won't like me, if _I_ were a thousand odd years old." Yvolgar laughed, and all heads turned towards him, his merriment being so uncommonly sincere.

"She is your slave," Ruvvoy frowned, his eyes fixated on Vette's collar.

"Who, Vette? She's not my slave, she is my Master's. And trust me, she gets far more fresh air now than in the dungeon he kept her… " Lord Yvolgar found himself talking far too fast under the stare of Ruvvoy's pale eyes. "Besides, is not your Dashade-"

"NO!" Ruvvoy thundered and flinched. He was obviously unused to raising his voice. "Khem is not a slave. He does a duty. As do I. I am not a slave as well. I am Sith."

Before Yvolgar could respond, the strange Rattatki closed his eyes and recited under his breath:

_Peace is a lie, there is only passion.  
Through passion, I gain strength.  
Through strength, I gain power.  
Through power, I gain victory.  
Through victory, all chains are broken.  
_

"Ah, good," said Lord Yvolgar, "very good, only it is _my chains_, not _all_— OUCH!" Vette's kicked him on the shin, and he took a closer look at Ruvvoy's meditative face after that prompt. "Well, if you like it your way, suit yourself. It's just Lord Baras gave me a fair tongue lashing for not getting it right the first time." He shook his head ruefully.

"So, how did you get to the Academy, Ruvvoy?" Vette put in.

Ruvvoy looked from Vette to Lord Yvolgar for a long moment, then nodded and started to talk.

"First, they took the collars off."

"No. First they brought us topside from the mine. There were many soldiers. They lined us up and took off our collars. We prostrated ourselves. The Voice said the soldiers will shoot us, but we can fight back. At first I stayed on my hands and knees; there was shooting and crying. The Voice kept saying we must fight. I got up and looked at the soldiers. I sensed fear. They did not fear a naked slave. They feared my people. How would they know that I was born a slave, and know less of my species than they do? Yet I have one trick I used to help me loosen the rocks in the mine. I've shocked the closest soldier who aiming at me. Everything came to a sudden halt. A Voice said from a platform high above: "Well, well. I don't know if I should be relieved that it worked for once, or disgusted. Bring him over."

"They dragged me up the platform and threw me before a figure dressed in bright clothes. A Sith Lord. He asked after my name. "

"I said it's Ruvvoy. It means nothing but sounds like words my people use between themselves. They never speak to me, of course. And they got killed fast. I think they seek to be killed. So, everyone calls me Ruvvoy now. That's good. I've never liked being called Rat. Rats are for eating."

(At that Lord Yvolgar cringed but did not interrupt.)

"The Sith Lord told me that I won my freedom, and I am going to Korriban. He kicked me so I pay attention and told me the rules. Then he turned away and ordered a bath to be drawn for him. That's when they gave me clothes, vibrosword and this datapad. They put me on a ship to Korriban."

Lord Yvolgar waited for a while, but the strange Rattataki was done talking. "A good story," Yvolgar nodded. "I take it you took the trials and won Khem Val's heart. Nice!" Ruvvoy stayed quiet.

"Leave him be," Vette said impatiently, "erm… Lord Yvolgar. Don't you see he's uncomfortable with talking to others? Some slaves are like that, you know. Never have a chance to hold a conversation, they just get orders!"

"You don't seem to have this problem, Vette," Lord Yvolgar muttered. "Not that I mind. It's hours yet to the Fleet… say, Ruvvoy, how about I get us all a round of drinks, and we work on your communication skills?"

Without waiting for a response, Yvolgar beckoned the ship droid over. Vette patted the seat opposite to her as an invitation to Ruvvoy. The pale man hesitated, but it was evident he was no less fascinated by Yvolgar, than Yvolgar was with him.

Lord Yvolgar toasted his company and mused: "Me, I came to the Academy by chance. When I was little, the Jedi Master came to our villa to tell my Mom that I was Sensitive and the Jedi would take me to the Temple. Mom looked at the Jedi Master and exclaimed: "Oh, how exciting! Little Yvvie is so talented!" After which she immediately inquired how much he charged for private home tutoring.

"Yvvie?" Vetter chortled. Lord Yvolgar grinned: "Yes, and I was about that tall…" and he indicated a height a touch above his seat's armrest.

"You see, even back then Dad owned at least 27% of Balmorra Rockets Industries Inc… must be closer to 36% now. They conversed for a while, but no amount of meditation could prepare a Master to deal with Mom. That was the last we've heard from the Order. I'm glad. I'm just not cut out to be a Jedi."

Vette snorted: "Yep, you're a Sith Lord born."

"No, really!" Yvolgar argued. "Mom's hired a couple of drop-outs, so I have a pretty good idea. They have rules for everything. No possessions, no lovers, no emotions. And all they do is move rocks. In circles. At least that's what they taught me to do. Kind of fun when you are seven, but boring by the time you're twelve. What good is that, I ask you?! Sith though… now that's swell! Sure, it cost a pretty penny to fast-track me through Overseer Tremel, but I've got raised to the sabre in no time!"

Vette shook her head: "You very nearly died. Five times. That's just after I've been tagging along. I bet you anything, it was far more before that."

"Nearly never counts, Vette!" Lord Yvolgar objected hotly. Then he looked at her bashfully: "Everyone dies! But not everyone lives. Really lives! Right, Ruvvoy?"

Ruvvoy thought for a while and did not reply. Yvolgar made a face, stretched in his chair and looked around. Most of the passengers were asleep and the service droid has disappeared somewhere. Yvolgar waved a lazy hand at Vette: "Vette, could you ask them after some more Juma Juice? I'm tired."

"You sure you wouldn't want a cup of Bantha milk as well?" Vette said sweetly.

"Well," said Yvolgar, "maybe if it was warmed up… and with a slice of—"

"Now, Lord Yvolgar," Vette snapped," You get it straight! If you need someone's shot, or a lock sliced, I'm yours to command. The maid duties… no way. There got to be _boundaries_! My Lord."

Lord Yvolgar sighed and looked at Ruvvoy hopefully. The Rattatki didn't touch his drink. Khem's glass was empty.

"What about you, Khem? Care for a refill and a drink for –"

Khem said something particularly melodic and grand. Yvolgar lifted a brow at Ruvvoy. The man carefully translated: "He said that you should make a satisfying meal."

"Oh?" Yvolgar raised an inquiring brow once again.

Ruvvoy explained: "The Dashad feed on the Force Users. Khem is starving."

Yvolgar threw his head back and laughed heartily. Once he finished, he looked at all three, checking that no one was inclined to move. "Too bad I am so lazy," he shrugged, declined his seat and was asleep in a matter of minutes.

Vette looked at the blissful smile that spread across Lord Yvolgar's face and asked Ruvvoy: "How come I feel guilty for not doing as he'd asked?"

"You must have not been a slave very long," Ruvvoy said, "with time you feel ill about not following orders of the masters."

Vette shook her head. "It's not that, never that. It's something else. Well, nighty-night, Ruvvoy."

Then, as an afterthought she added in a quiet voice: "Ask Khem nicely not to eat him, will you? He's the best Master I've had so far." She sounded almost serious.

Ruvvoy nodded gravely, and Vette settled into her seat.

She woke up because someone gently shook her shoulder: "We are here, sleepy-head." Suddenly she wanted to pretend to be asleep for a while longer, so that the Lord Yvolgar's hand remained where it was. But Vette forced herself to open her eyes and gasped, his face was so close. After noticing just how alert his slanted eyes were, and how precisely they matched the shade of his skin, she jumped out of the seat and skipped after him to the Fleet.

They've lost Ruvvoy in the crowd, but Lord Yvolgar was hailed by a couple of serious-looking Sith. After asserting that he was the Lord Barras new apprentice, Lord Yvolgar was notified that he was granted a session with a high ranking Swordmaster to review his skills.

"Now," Yvolgar grinned, "Isn't that thoughtful of the old _Lard_ Baras?"

Vette scoffed: "Aww, he cares about you. Touching, for sure."

"Oh, common, don't be sour! I get to try my sabre against a real pro! Not some bitter acolyte like Vemrin!" Lord Yvolgar threw over his shoulder as he took off at a clip. He stopped abruptly, slapped his forehead and ran right back to Vette. "Here," he said stuffing a credit chip into her palm, "get something to eat while you are waiting! You must be starving! Forgot you've slept through breakfast."

Lord Yvolgar turned on his heels again, took off and… rushed head-long into a huge black rancor with rainbow strips that a splendidly attired rider was trying to turn around in a narrow hallway of the Space Station. He muttered "sorry…" before speeding away.

Vette did not notice his misadventure. She stared at the credit chip in her hand. The golden boy gave her enough and to spare for a slicer to take the collar off and then… Then she could very well stow away in a cargo hold and-


	3. The Black Talon: Lekku and Lightsabres

3. The Empire Ship Black Talon: Lekku and Lightsabres

Lord Yvolgar made his way across the Fleet Cantina, beaming from ear to ear. Apart from the grin, his most prominent facial feature was an intensely green bruise closing one of those unnerving slanted eyes. Well, to be fair, the shades of purple started to develop as well at the edge of the injury, but Vette was not destined to see the resulting color scheme. A slim girl with dreadlocks and a couple of implants ouched, and threw a handful of green goo with a sharp antiseptic smell into Lord Yvolgar's face. It evaporated into a cloud of smoke, leaving Lord Yvolgar's complexion his normal boring shade of green.

Vette tacked into her bantha steak with a vengeance while Lord Yvolgar thanked his benefactress. Vette did not lift her eyes off the plate when Lord Yvolgar dropped into the chair opposite from her. He drowned a large cup she ordered especially for him in one big gulp, whipped off the blue milk moustache, and tore into the two slices of bread with such gusto that the steak almost lost its appeal. "Does anything phase the guy?" Vette thought and touched the credit chip in her pocket. "_Tomorrow_," she promised herself, "_I will be rid of him tomorrow_." She'd managed to secure a few shipments of Terenthium on the market at the rock-bottom prices, and resell it well. Her worth had almost doubled now. Not bad for a slave girl just out of the cage!

Lord Yvolgar stretched and said enthusiastically: "Any more? I could eat a whole nerf, hooves and all! They ran me through the drills ten times, to see if I could handle the two sabres at once. Ha, Vette, you should have seen me with a sabre in each hand! I've caught a reflection in the view-screen. An absolute screaming perfection!"

Vette finally looked up at him: "Do we need to buy a second sabre for you, lord Yvolgar? 'Cause I saw a bunch on the stalls around the corner."

Lord Yvolgar shook his head: "Nah. You see, after we were done with the two sabres, and I was about to get my certificate, that other trainer mentioned that I won't be able to armor myself much. And I thought I'd rather have a heavier gear seeing how you seem to disapprove of my being hurt, and well…" he grinned sheepishly, "well, you are now right behind me, and need protection."

Vette dropped her fork. It clunked as it hit the plate.

Lord Yvolgar saw her mouth form an "O" and dismissed her budding outrage with a lazy wave of his hand: "Of course you can defend yourself. But it doesn't hurt to have a mighty champion, like me, right?! Righ- Oh, Okay. Just think of me as a meat-shield, yes? And I still look screaming awesome in the armor! I have to work on the pecks though; it is a touch loose right now."

Vette snorted: "A touch? If it were made for a Sith or a Human, you'd be like a tongue in a bell inside it! Erm. My Lord."

Lord Yvolgar laughed happily: "I bet just wearing it will beef me up! Besides, it's not _quite_ that bad, Vette. And he flexed his arm to prove his point. For the whole cantina to see what he had for a biceps and delt. At least he did not pull off his shirt. Small blessings and all that.

Still, Vette felt a blush creeping up her cheeks – because the people stared, she was sure of that. "You're a real manly man, my Lord," she said quickly.

Lord Yvolgar waved back at the handsome bartender, who seemed to be distracted from his work by Yvolgar's ruddiness, and continued excitedly: "And, oh you're going to love this one! Lard Baras' name got us booked on a classy ship, called the _Black Talon_. It's going to take us to the Big Rock in half the time the civilian transport does! I ran into Ruvvoy, by the way, and the poor soul is coming along for the ride. Doubt he'd ever been on anything but a cargo freighter before. That's a military frigate, a real beaut. Alright, off we go!" He threw down a week's salary on the table and sped off.

As Vette trailed after Lord Yvolgar down the Departures Hall, she muttered to herself: "Great, a _military_ ship. There goes my big escape plan." But she had to admit that a very small part of her was happy about sticking with the unlikely Sith Lord for a while longer. A very, very, very small part. The tiniest one. Anyway, if not tomorrow, Vette promised herself, then the day after tomorrow. Dromund Kaas, the proud Capital of the Empire is bound to have the not so proud dark alleys, and there would be slicers aplenty….

Ruvvoy and his morose monster met him at the Black Talon boarding ramp. Once the four travelers boarded they were coldly greeted by a formidable woman in crisp fatigues that contrasted sharply with the dark circles around her eyes. It took at least three (and possibly as many as five) smiles from Lord Yvolgar to get her name - Lt. Sylas. Her voice remained dry as she informed Yvolgar that his droid is expecting in the lounge.

"Perfect! Better not keep it waiting!" Lord Yvolgar exclaimed and walked confidently on.

"To your left, m'lord. _Then_ second turn to the right," Lieutenant called after him when they were almost out of the earshot.

"You run a tight ship, Lieutenant. And _very beautiful_," Yvolgar responded with a grin, as they backtracked and passed Lt. Sylas again. "It was a delightful detour!"

Vette resisted pulling Lord Yvolgar sleeve, but asked as soon as they cleared the military personnel: "What's with the droid?"

"No clue," Yvolgar shrugged, "we'll know in a moment." Khem made another sonorous announcement in response to that, and Vette sniggered at Ruvvoy who dutifully opened his mouth: "Don't translate! It loses all the charm!" Ruvvoy obeyed out of habit, a peculiar thing. A former slave, obeying a current one.

Grey, triangular-faced and unremarkable, the droid sidled up to them as soon as they entered: "You have arrived. Stand by for a message from Moff Kilran."

"Do I know you, pal?" Lord Yvolgar asked.

"Irrelevant. All travelers of your designation shall speak to the Moff Kilran," the droid replied haughtily. He turned on a portable holo, and an image of a heavily-set man shimmered over it.

"Wow," said Vette, "the connection sucks. Look at the guy's face! That's SOME interference!"

Moff Kilran deigned her with a look: "Ah, the scar? I hardly notice it any more. A present from an old Jedi friend."

"It gives your face character," Lord Yvolgar interjected smoothly, "any man of quality would be proud of such marks." Vette did not like the wistfulness in his eyes. Moff Kilran might have been pleased. He did not waste his time on niceties however, and skipped to their marching ordered. The Black Talon was to intercept the Republic Ship _Brentaal Star_, and take a certain man aboard her a prisoner. But first they had to convince Captain Ozrick –by any means necessary- to follow Moff's orders.

The intricacies of the Imperial system did not guarantee his cooperation. Their small party was keenly aware of it even before their progress to the bridge was barred by the Marines. Lord Yvolgar stepped forward and said with unaccepted authority: "Step aside. Sith business."

However, the Sergeant was not impressed. "Is that so? Last time I looked, Sith did not grow headtails, boy." The voice articulated by the helmet was mocking and harsh. It no doubt belonged to an old military dog.

Lord Yvolgar straightened and let the lightsabre's lazer blade out. It shone angry red, point to the floor.

"Look again," he said tightly. Ruvvoy stepped in, a hand on the hilt, but uncomfortably so, Vette noticed. Khem's grip on the vibrosword by contrast was relaxed and threatening.

The Sergeant surveyed their group and laughed: "Pretty toys you got there, boys. Now clear out. My men are well-versed in dealing with the alien scum." Vette seethed. When the man said 'toys' there was no mistaking his meaning. _She_ was a plaything as much as the swords.

Lord Yvolgar's swung the sabre, his eyes narrowing to a dangerous slits. Khem barked out hefting his own weapon, and Yvolgar threw over his shoulder as his sabre burnt the Sergeant's armor: "Well, make an exception then! Force Users or no, they need eating." The purple lightning erupted from Ruvvoy, and the blaster fire in every color imaginable filled the air. Then there were only screams. Mostly from the Marines, but Khem got an ugly rip in his shoulder too… that miraculously disappeared as Ruvvoy whispered something under his breath.

Their way now cleared, the party crossed the bridge, met by weary silence. On an elevated platform, by the Galaxy map and the navigational computer, stood a stern looking man in the company of Lieutenant Sylas and that unremarkable droid, NR-02.

Lord Yvolgar closed the distance unnaturally fast, and put the tip of the sabre to Captain's throat. Captain Ozrick did not flinch. "You are under Moff Kilran's orders, I take it. "

"Some of your guards may yet live if you send medics out right now," Lord Yvolgar replied evenly, "_then_ we can talk."

Captain waved an Ensign to obey. "Thank you, m'lord. I take it there is no arguing over the sanity or value of the attack with you. Very well. We will plot the course for the Brentaal Star. Make it so, Lieutenant."

Lord Yvolgar lowered the sabre. "That's better!" he exclaimed, "I was beginning to worry I was mistaken for a Jedi." There were some nervous chuckles from the crew, interrupted by an urgent beep of the comm.

"Sir, this is from a Republic's flagship!" the Communications Officer reported in disbelief.

"Put it through," Captain Ozrick responded gravely. The shadows under Lt. Sylas eyes deepened. Even her hair started to look mighty tired.

This time it was a woman made of shimmering light. A beautiful woman, if you fancied humans and if you disregarded how aggressive and dangerous her features were. She also sported two incongruously innocent looking braids. Nobody's perfect.

"I am Master Satele Shan," the woman announced as a preamble.

"Pleased to meet you, Satele!" Lord Yvolgar replied with a foppish bow. "To what do we owe a pleasure?"

Master Shan frowned. "Youngling, I am on the way to intercept with sixteen cruisers under my command. I suggest that you change the course now and avoid the unnecessary confrontation."

"Only sixteen to take me down? Why, this boards on offence, Shan!" Lord Yvolgar exclaimed in a tone that one would use with an intimate friend over a cup of Corellian and cut the call off. Then he turned to the Captain.

"My Captain! Order to board her! "

He gave the entire assembly a quick look-over, his face beaming. "Ladies and Gents! Let's show the Republic 's nerfs how professionals do war!" They loved him, Vette saw in disbelief. Heck, _she_ felt elevated to follow the Sith. There were cheers, and there was something that Vette didn't think was possible in this strange Galaxy: Lt. Sylas smiled.

The giant ships collided, creating an improvised entryway, and Lord Yvolgar lept in, leading the charge. The fighting was heavy through the Brentaal Star, but their small vanguard felt into a deadly concert. Yvolgar and Khem supplied the swordplay, Ruvvoy electrocuted the hapless soldiers with jolts of purple lightening and Vette burned everything that moved. Then the tide of battle broke for a moment against a heavy blast doors. When they soundlessly parted – who opened it? Ruvvoy? Yes- Vette saw a Twi'lek woman, no bigger than herself, in a proud fighting stance, a blue sabre pulsating in her hand.

"I am Pawdwan Yadira Ban. Your murderous progress stops here!"

Lord Yvolgar smiled widely: "Oh, come on. What are you going to do, throw a rock?"

The Twi'lek gave her head a proud toss, and her lekku flew in a gorgeous fashion. Vette made a note of it for when she will be rid of the collar. The move looked great!

"I am not bargaining with a bastard who enslaves his own people!" she replied haughtily.

"Vette is not _my_ slave," Lord Yvolgar said exasperated.

"Foul Sith lies!" Yadira exclaimed hotly. "This collar isn't a decorative torque."

"I can tell you the whole story, Yadira. It is actually not as bad as it looks. Let's sit down, relax a little, talk shop. You know, lekku and lightsabres? " Lord Yvolgar started with a disarming smile.

Yadira stared at the man in utter disbelief. She parried sharply: "Don't you dare imply that we have anything in common! You disgust me. You and your revolting Sith company! One last time: stand down, surrender and answer for the murders you have just committed on this ship, or I shall cut you down."

"Come on, Yadira. You can't do that," Lord Yvolgar chided, "this is not a matter of faith, but of arithmetic. Count with me: two Sith, a Dashade who yearns to have all three of us for supper, and the quickest draw in the Galaxy. Who is not my slave. Just give me what I want, and we can laugh the whole misunderstanding over a –"

Yadira Ban did not waste any more words. She extended her palm, and Lord Yvolgar was suddenly airborne, landing on his behind a good distance away. "Can't say I blame her," Vette muttered, as Yvolgar sprang back to his feet in one smooth, uninterrupted motion. In fact, it looked like his backside was rubber. Either that, or his abs were tight as a spring. Vette didn't have time to ponder the man's anatomy. The man leaped back, and as he flashed past her, she suddenly realized that he was ceased by the battle lust. Gone was the relaxed set to his shoulders, and a lazy happy smile. Even the playful green of his eyes was gone, replaced by intense red glow. That new Twi'lek, the raging Sith, crashed into Yadira Ban with a terrifying knell, and slashed with a force that the padawan was unable to parry. The red sabre threw the blue aside. Yadira pulled Yvolgar closer, and threw him back instead, despite the smoldering lek. Same blast of Force Energy dropped Khem down. Ruvvoy's lightening seared through, but he abruptly stopped the flow turning his attention to Khem. Vette didn't have time to take a careful aim. She loosed fire at will.

It was almost a pleasure to hurt Yadira, even though the woman seemed to ignore her completely. The regret came later, when she saw the light go out of the surprised and uncompromising eyes. Vette did not have time to reflect. Yvolgar was hunting the perimeter, and she couldn't tell if he knew a friend from a foe. Khem resolved this dilemma, delivering a hard blow to the Lord's temple. He said "Ouff!" and sat down heavily, dropping his head between his bent knees.

When he lifted his face back at her, he looked almost the same, save for an ugly slash from brow to the opposite corner of his mouth. It didn't ooze much, thanks to the tell-tale lightsabre burn. "Do you think it will scar?" Yvolgar asked hopefully, plucking at the burn. Then he squealed in an unmanly fashion.

"Not a chance," Vette said firmly, broke off a top from a med-pack syringe and poured the entire content over Yvolgar's face.

"Easy!" Lord Yvolgar yelped. "What is it with women today flinging bantha poo into my face all day long?!"

A lonely figure of an old man, bent over in pain wandered towards them. All levity fled Lord Yvolgar once again. "You are the General?" he asked, "but you are… an Imperial General!"

"I was," the man said. "But a man has to do what he has to do."

"What did you do?" asked Ruvvoy suddenly.

"Let's say I have looked into the depth of the Abyss. In my position I was privy to the information on both the Republic's and the Imperial plans. I saw the hatred, and I saw the weapons that they built to satisfy it. The weapons that should destroy us all in the end… I tried to delay this from happening, but now…"

The man clutched his stomach again. "Now I stand here, my belly full of blood, and prophesize doom to the uncomprehending youths. Do what you will."

"You are a prisoner," Ruvvoy said, and Lord Yvolgar nodded his agreement, silent for once. The Marines came to take the General away. Lord Yvolgar climbed back to his feet and sighed: "Don't know about you, Ruvvoy, but I intend to get drunk and sleep all the way to Dromund Kaas. Vette, will you wake me up?"

"Sure, my lord" Vette said.

"Don't worry, I don't sleep in the buff," the smile danced its way back into his eyes just like that.

"Wouldn't be worried if you did, my lord!" Vette called back. "A bucket of cold water has plenty of uses!"

"You know," said Lord Yvolgar, "that thing about women stopping to throw things into my face? Well, forget I complained. Face is good."

"Charming…" Vette sighed. She was determined more than ever to jump the ship in Dromund Kaas. Because in all honesty, she didn't want to know how long it's going to take before Yvolgar's eyes will never go back to the mischevous green.


	4. Dromund Kaas: Before Breakfast

4. Dromund Kaas: Before Breakfast

"Ha!" Yvolgar said rolling his shoulders to relieve strain of the unfamiliar weight of the heavy suit of armor. "A dozen of Manadalorians before breakfast! Not bad, but gives a man an appetite!"

"What doesn't, My Lord?" Vette quipped. "At this rate you'll be looking like Lard Bare-Ass in no time."

Lord Yvolgar stared at her, speechless. "Me? NEVER! I come from a wiry stock."

Vette snorted.

"And… and a growing boy needs his food!" he added triumphantly.

"Let me guess, My Lord. You're quoting your mom?" Vette's asked.

"Verbatim!" Yvolgar exclaimed, threw his head back and laughed for a minute or so. "Common, admit it, Vette. I've got quite a workout going against Kregg. Took a lot of pounding to take him out. Served him right for extending a challenge to every passer-by! As if a Mandolorian could be superior to a Sith. Ha!"

"Kregg was at a disadvantage, My Lord. He was too busy laughing at your pink sword," Vette parried.

"The box said the Crystal was _Magenta_!" Yvolgar argued stubbornly.

"Don't know about the box, My Lord, but your blade now says: '_I feel secure in my masculinity'_," Vette muttered and climbed on the speeder behind Yvolgar. She wanted to make a break for it, only the approaches to the capital city were all jungle full of crazed beasts and… Well, before she knew it, Lord Yvolgar accepted a fool fight to the death challenge from a bored Mandolorian clan leader, and it felt wrong to leave Yvolgar without a backup.

"Well, if you are done telling me I'm fat, effeminate and have the silliest sword on Dromund Kaas, let's go see if I look any more appealing standing next to my esteemed Master." Lord Yvolgar irritably threw over his shoulder. Vette did not reply, but grabbed on tight to his waist. It was trim, she had to admit, and good thing it was. She needed to be able to wrap her arms around it and interlock her fingers, because Lord Yvolgar did not bother going around obstacles or even slowing down for them. He roared the engine, and made the speeder jump. Vette had a bad feeling about it the moment Lord Yvolgar ran for the mail depot in the Kaas space port: there was a speeder there, waiting for him, of course. Daddy or mommy's gift, Vette wasn't sure. Dad's more likely; as there was not one pretty bow in sight (the box with the _magenta_ crystal had three).

Afterwards, her energetic Lord just had to climb a dusty ramp in the hangar bay, walk the rafters and nearly break his neck plunging down from the height, on a tip from a friend. There was some Sith curiosity or another stashed in an obscure container that could only be accessed in this ridiculous fashion. Vette wondered what sort of a person has discovered it in the first place….

No matter how her stomach lurched, and how desperately she had to cling to Lord Yvolgar, Vette still wished the ride lasted longer when they landed by the Sith Sanctum. The imposing building gave her an immediate headache. And seeing Lord Barras made her feel even worse.

Luckily, the Sith Lord seemed to have little time for his apprentice. Just ordered him sharply to oversee a delivery of an important piece of property in some cargo bay. Yvolgar bowed, but, to Vette's dismay, stuck around until Barras deigned to notice him again.

"Master," Lord Yvolgar simpered, "may I trouble you for a formality?"

Lord Barras turned on him impatiently: "What is it, apprentice?"

"If Vette belongs to me, as you've implied, My Lord, I thought it would be prudent for me to carry an official deed here on Dromund Kaas. Otherwise, I may be held up by some official while on your business if someone questions my ownership of her. I am not a Human, my Lord, nor a Sith, so there might be… problems," Yvolgar smiled ingratiatingly.

Lord Barras nodded shortly, barked an order in the holo, and dismissed them. Vette has never felt so humiliated in her life! She couldn't understand why she also felt betrayed. It took all of her willpower not to burn a hole in him right here and then with her blaster. Lord Yvolgar got his datapad from a bowing servant, and dragged her on to the cantina. She made it a point of going as slow as she could.

"Breakfast, My Lord?" Vette's asked unpleasantly once they reached the large dining area. "Should I cut your food for you? Wipe your… mouth? Shine your boots?"

"SIT!" Yvolgar ordered angrily, and she dropped into her chair. The command in his voice _made_ her legs fold under her, she was sure of it. Funny, the Jedi did that, not the Sith. Sith vastly preferred chocking the life out of a sentient to mind-control when they looked for obedience. And, he could have used her collar to shock her. It was still unpleasant. When her mind cleared, Yvolgar was on his holo.

"Johnson, good morning, old buddy!"

An image of a perpetually busy Human of uncertain but dignified age hovered above the holo.

"Master Yvolgar, how are you?" Johnson's greeting was short, courteous but, Vette thought, a little exasperated as well.

"I am well, thank you very much. I trust you are in a good health as well. You look positively thriving," Lord Yvolgar tapped his foot impatiently. "Johnson, a tiny favor, please?" But he did not sound like anyone Vette knew asking for a boon, the arrogant sod. She gave Yvolgar a withering stare just for that. The lordling was too busy ordering his dad's man around to notice.

"I have just transmitted a deed just now. Check it is all in order. Then dissolve the contract granting the slave her freedom, and draft the official paper, valid across the Empire. Yes. Whatever it's called. I don't care, you know which one's the best. How long? Fine, just send it to me when done. Two copies. Thanks, Johnson, much appreciated! Have a good one! Tell dad I said hi!"

Vette's mouth hanged open. Yvolgar leaned across the table and gently pushed her jaw upwards.

"Look, Vette, the formalities are going to take a day or two, but trust me, it's worth it. Okay?"

Vette finally found her tongue. "Two days, and I am free? So I can leave, go wherever I want?"

"Leave?" Yvolgar seemed to be taken aback as if the thought has never occurred to him. _Why would anyone not want to travel with him, right?_ But Vette found herself saying instead: "Maybe I'll stick around anyway. Haven't heard from my old crew and stuff."

"Oh, good." Yvolgar smiled widely. Then his eyes lit up devilishly: "Now, to breakfast!"

Vette chided: "Really, My Lord, if I ate like you _I_ would look like Lard Bare-Ass!"

Lord Yvolgar gave her a lazy one over. "Well, don't overdo it, Miss, but frankly, you can use a little more flesh," and he made a fluid gesture indicating just where he would not mind the extras.

Vette resolutely stuck to a cup of tea.


	5. Dromund K: But, Vette, It Always Works

5. Dromund Kaas: But, Vette, It Always Works!

Tacked in the heart of an industrial park on the edge of the old city, the Cargo Port B7 did not make a lasting impression. Humble or not, Lord Yvolgar strolled in as if he owned the warehouse. The echo of his footfalls disturbed a bored officer and his underlings.

"This area is of limits, Twi'lek! Get lost," the man in charge spat out and started to turn away. Yvolgar casually pushed a flap aside to show the sabre's hilt.

"Lord Baras asked me to ensure his prize is delivered promptly, Commander…?" he said curtly.

"Lanklyn, My Lord," the man shifted form foot to foot, looking mildly apprehensive. "I assure you, we can handle it. There is nothing for Lord Baras to worry-"

Lord Yvolgar shrugged dismissively and stopped paying attention to the man. Instead, his eyes moved around scanning the warehouse, while the workers unloaded a large slab of carbonite with some poor wretch inside it from the docked shuttle. Vette followed Lord Yvolgar's example. She noticed the motion behind large crates the same moment Yvolgar did, and crouched. It could be an innocent scavenger, a wild bird, a rodent –

A rodent, yes, of sorts. But a HUGE one. With a face only his mother could love, a necklace of grenades, and a rifle of an impressive size. A split second later a human slipped into view from behind another create.

The latest arrival pushed braided hair out of his eyes. "Why, TuMarr, fancy meeting you here!"

The braids fell right back, but the mouth belied his amusement nonetheless.

"The cargo is mine, Slestack, you scum!" TuMarr growled. _He_ was not amused in the slightest.

"Why, charming as usual," Slestack grinned, "but particularly clueless. I have the first dibbs, TuMarr. Stand down."

The minions materialized out of thin air as this exchange took place and came to join the two leaders. "TuMarr is Hutts, or I am a Rhodian berserker," Vette thought, "but the other one… hmm… SIS maybe? A freelancer?"

"Scum!" TuMarr reasserted with a forceful stubbornness.

"To know TuMarr is to love TuMarr!" Slestack exclaimed, addressing himself to no-one in particular, but absolutely enjoying himself. "Limited vocabulary, gentlemen… and a lady, but notice how he manages to milk every drop of threat out of it." The rogue had an audacity to wink at Vette: "Don't worry, beautiful, his ugly face won't offend your sight much longer."

Commander Lanklyn carefully reached for his pistol and said something nearly inaudible to his men. Yvolgar, on the opposite, took no efforts to be subtle. He folded his arms across his chest, set his feet a little wider apart, and stood tall.

"On Balmorra, old hags trade words like that on the bazar all day," he said derisively.

"But!" He held each man's eyes in turn. "If one of you is serious about challenging _a Sith_, earn the honor."

"_Bring me the other's head_."

Lord Yvolgar projected his voice, so the words echoed in the warehouse.

_Head… head…_

Vette fully expected each scoundrel to laugh and unload his clip into the stripling Sith, but both men's nostrils flared, their chins went up, the eyes glared – and they turned on each other, eager to prove _something_ to a _complete stranger_.

Bewildered, Vette flattened herself against the floor, along with the rest of the Lanklyn's squad.

Yvolgar did not move, watching the short contest impassively. And it was quite a showdown!

Slestack's first round took TuMarr at his knees, bringing the gigantic man down, but one of his underlings managed to turn Slestack's lieutenant into a human torch. Slestack howled and took a careful aim, ignoring the fire bursts around him. The rogue did not see TuMarr's toss until it was too late. The grenade exploded, making it hard to see, hear and breathe. When the flames settled, Slestack was down. TuMarr screamed victoriously, but chocked up. Blood came bubbling out of his mouth… and then nobody moved. Vette couldn't credit her eyes, and her ears rang.

Behind Yvolgar, Commander Lanklyn broke the silence, his voice a touch hoarse, and even shaking a little: "Thank you, my Lord, thank you. Without you, we would have had a tough fight on our hands…" and waved frantically for the petrified workers to move Lord Baras' carbonized prisoner.

Lord Yvolgar barely acknowledged Lanklyn's praise and walked to the door, following the carbonate block. He paused to kneel by Slestack. Pushed the man's braids aside, and closed the staring eyes. "Pretty," he whispered, "a pity."

Vette noticed him ball his hands into fists a few times, then slowly unclench them as they accompanied the cargo to the Sith Sanctum. _Releasing the Force_, Vette realized, and felt a chill. "Lucky you set them against one another, My Lord," Vette said to distract herself from thinking too too much about the whole Sith thing. "I would feel awful if we had to kill them all. If, you know, it didn't work."

Lord Yvolgar looked at her abashed: "But, Vette, it _always_ works!"

"Ah," Vette giggled. "Of course. On Balmorra. A word of advice, My Lord? Don't try to pull it on a girl. "

Lord Yvolgar repeated stubbornly: "It _always_ works. You'll see."

Then he sighed: "Vette, refresh my memory, please. My name is-?"

"Yvolgar," Vette murmured.

"So use it, Vette. Or do I need to re-decorate the Sanctum as well?"

Vette kept on giggling for a bit, but the funnies left her as soon as they stepped into the oppressive office building of the Sith. Lard Baras, on another hand, was as jolly as a Sith could be. It was sort of scary, really. He rubbed his hands looking at the black outline of a man.

"This man hold the key to the puzzle," he said, "My spy network has been compromised, my most prized agents revealed to the Republic! I must know how the traceless spy was discovered."

"Must have left a trace somewhere," Lord Yvolgar offered, looking bored. He caught himself and bowed properly: "My Lord."

"Still here?" Lord Baras snapped out of his reverie. The face mask was blank, but Vette felt him staring Yvolgar down.

"I need time to break the prisoner. You are to report to my Apprentice, Ba'al, at the Lord Grathan's Estate. Grathan needs a lesson. He defied me one time too many."

Lord Yvolgar's face assumed a strange expression. "You have… another apprentice, My Lord?" he asked in a high, petulant voice. "Is he… senior to me?"

Lard Baras did not respond, his attention fixed once again on his carbonized man. Lord Yvolgar turned on his heels and sped out of the building.

"What's wrong with you!" Vette exclaimed near breathless once they were outside. "Erm… Lord Yvolgar. You're fuming because this horrible, repulsive, outrageous reprobate-"

Lord Yvolgar interrupted her sulkily: "Maybe, but he is _my_ Lord and—"

Vette was unstoppable: "…has another apprentice! How does it—"

"…and I'm going show him that this Ba'al is _nothing_ compared to me! I will grind him into green goo!" Lord Yvolgar finished.

Vette gave up, jumped on the speeder and rolled her eyes: "Fine! Measure your lightsabre against his all you want, once you get there, but you're not driving! Hop on."

"Vette," Yvolgar said quietly, "that's my speeder. The newest prototype, limited release, twenty-four gears, electrum alloy caps, the MK-9 suspension -"

"Yep, and if you want a ride, you will hop on it now. Or you can walk… Lord Yvolgar."

The glint that appeared in Lord Yvolgar's eyes made her skin prickle even before he flashed his widest, his best smile ever: "I'll walk. Try to keep up!"

With that, Lord Yvolgar pushed a button on his wrist guard, and a bluish jet of flames exploded from his rocket boots, and propelled him down the path at a crazy speed. Vette did not have time to curse as much as she wanted to before she punched the speeder in gear and raced after him. Luckily, Yvolgar's boots had to be recharged now and then, while the speeder had no such disadvantage. So she got in her quota of cussing while playing a strange game of tag with Lord Yvolgar all the way through the jungle to the Estate. She also promised herself to get him back at the first opportunity.


	6. Dromund Kaas: Ergonomic Chairs

_ AN: Folks, as ever thank you for the R&R. And if you spotted a sin against grammar or common sense, and have a minute do drop a line! I will greatly appreciate it! Well, onward, and thank you again for spending time with Lord Yvolgar!_

_Kaas: Ergonomic Chairs_

The excitement of the mad chase through the jungle did not leave Vette much time to ruminate on their actual goal. She focused on not being caught in the gigantic ferns, eaten by hulking lizards, and crashing into towering trees. The contemplation kicked in when Lord Yvolgar finally stopped dead in his tracks. They stood for a moment taking in the scenery, while the awe-inspiring lightning flashed overhead: an omen on any other world, and something you simply lived with on Dromund Kaas.

A vast walled estate rose from the greenery across a wide ravine, its width span by a sturdy bridge. Lord Grathan obviously took into account the vigorous vegetation's appetite for lesser structures of men when designing his pad. With relish. At least the bridge was guarded by a couple of squads of the Imperials. Lord Yvolgar made a beeline for the friendlies. A jittery man, Captain Bryn, greeted them with an undisguised enthusiasm, and a measure of amusement.

"Fresh mercenaries!" he exclaimed, "There is plenty trying to gain entry to the rogue Lord's Estate to get a slice of a pie while Grathan is at odds with the Dark Council. It's a veritable warzone!"

"Not me. I am but a tourist," Lord Yvolgar replied self-effacingly, "Fresh off Balmorra, you know, enjoying the sights of the glorious Seat of our Empire. Have never heard of this Grathan fellow, and certainly have no designs on this fortress. But… what's he like? I bet my folks back on the homeworld would be thrilled to hear all about him."

The Imperial chuckled: "Of course, of course. I live to satisfy the idle curiosity of a passerby. That, and holding back the forays of rogue Sith Lords. Nevermind my job description…. Lord Grathan, my good tourist, is a great Sith Lord who supplements his personal power with a private army and a cadre of brilliant scientists for building experimental weapons, assassin droids, ergonomic chairs and the like… Speaking of which, if you happen to take a stroll nearer and just run into the schematics the Empire and me personally would gratefully take it off your hands."

"The Empire," Lord Yvolgar agreed with a sage nod, "can certainly use better chairs."

"You said it, My Lord!" the Imperial nodded and waved them through. And that was that for the easy part of their morning.

"So, which way? This or that?" Vette pointed at the heavily armored mercenaries dousing the guards at the gates with fire, and then at a more discrete figure scaling the walls. Reinforcements were arriving to help the defenders. "Are you feeling nimble, My Lord Yvolgar?"

"I am nimble, but…" a wide smile lit up Lord Yvolgar's features, "I have a better plan than shinning up the wall in full kit!"

"Uh-huh, would that be a plan where you and the armor get dragged over the wall separately, right?" Vette rolled her eyes. "By me?"

"NO!" Yvolgar interrupted impatiently. "We go through the front door. Fully armed and armored."

"Ah," said Vette weakly, "Simple, dignified and suicidal…. I don't like it, My Lord."

"Don't fret, Vette," Yvolgar produced a datapad and opened a map of the estate. "All you have to do is to drive real fast to this door here. She'll get us there." He patted the speeder's shining wheel with pride.

"And the assassin droids with the advanced weaponry?" Vette wanted to know.

"That's for me to worry about. But you got to drive like you mean it. Seriously, Vette, none of this ancient bantha progress with a meditative stop at every flumping fern. _Fast. _Furious if you can_."_

"I am your humble slave, Lord Yvolgar," Vette fumed and roared the engine to life. He wanted it furious? Well, he's about to get to grips with an entirely new concept of furious!

Vette never once touched the breaks, but gave it gas every time her better judgment screamed, then mumbled, then whimpered in protest. They rode through the mayhem of pitched battles on the ground in a cloud of dust and sparks, and… well, she did not exactly see it, but by the sound and feel of it, Lord Yvolgar jumped on the seat behind her, and stood there all the way swirling his sabre though the air, deflecting what bolts were sent their way by the bewildered guards and droids.

She _almost_ wished she could see him. She _almost _wished a shot would take him down. However, maybe the droids calculated that Lord yvolgar's and hers odds of surviving the ride were exceedingly low, or maybe it was a stroke of luck, but they got through with nothing worse than scratches on the speeder.

That's until Vette didn't break for the set of steps leading up to the door Lord Yvolgar wanted to get to so badly. She raced all the way up, and then hit the brakes hard. Yvolgar's hell machine went from the million miles an hour pace to a stand-still; from a steep rocky ascent to flat ground in a split second, making her proud owner to finally lose his footing, and roll off to one side on cold hard concrete.

Vette thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle, particularly Lord Yvogar's final landing on his behind, a glowing lightsabre still in a two-handed grip. He must have done his trainer proud, for he did come back to his feet rather smoothly after a few muffled curses and a louder, indignant: "Ouch, Vette, I nearly cut a lek off!"

Vette lowered her head demurely: "I am dreadfully sorry, My Lord Yvolgar. You _can't_ afford brain damage."

Yvolgar's eyes bulged, but when he opened his mouth, it was to laugh with a boyish abandon rather than yell. While he was at it, Vette spotted a figure watching them out of a second storey window. She was quite sure the observer rubbed his forehead wearily before stepping back into the shadows of the room.

"Alright, let's go see this Ba'al fellow," Yvolgar commanded and marched into the building. Vette followed, pretty sure that she has had the pleasure of seeing Ba'al already. She was proved right: there was only one man in the office room full of monitoring equipment. Up close, Ba'al looked to be a human of dark complexion, with a head of tight neat curls. All and all, easy on the eyes, but his disposition matched his coloring.

"So Lord Baras sends me a brute to do an assassin's work," he greeted Yvolgar with an unpleasant twist to his mouth. "I would have thought it a job for someone supple, clever and stealthy."

"You must get real lonely here, " Yvolgar drawled lazily, "to daydream about a partner so much. A blonde or a red-head?"

"Ah," Ba'al said, "an attempt at humor, right? Well, ha-ha, brute. Now, we got the hilarity out of the way, try to remember the instructions, or is it what the slave girl is for?"

And Vette was just starting to like the man's attitude! Lord Yvolgar said nothing, but his eyes grew harder as he looked Ba'al up and down.

"I worked for Baras here for a few years, and I have come up with a perfect way to teach Lord Grathan a lesson," Ba'al started. "Recently I found out that Lord Grathan has a son—"

"Why," muttered Yvolgar, "another decade and you will get his shoe size, spy-master…"

"Lord Grathan wears boots, wise guy," Ba'al growled, "and the existence of this offspring is not a common knowledge. Beelzlit was always well-hidden. But now he is on the grounds, so killing him would send a message loud and clear."

"Hold on!" Yvolgar exclaimed hotly, "I don't make war on babies!"

Vette suppressed an impulse to throw her arms around Yv's neck and… _WHAT? Yv? Dumb, that's just incredibly dumb._

"Typical," Ba'al sighed meanwhile, "jumping to conclusions, flexing muscle and roaring at the wind. Lord Grathan's son, _brute_, is twenty, and near to graduating Korriban's Academy. If _you_ spent any time there, you might have met him."

"Fine," said Yvolgar, "kill the apprentice. Been there, done that. Got it." He turned to go, but Ba'al hissed: "Oh how I wish I could just send you on your merry way. But I have planned this mission for months, and I will not let you blow it."

"Here and here and here," he pointed at the marked locations on a proffered datapad, "are the security terminals you will need to disable to get to the young Grathan."

Yvolgar glanced at the blinking screens on the wall: "And deprive you of seeing me in action while you stew in the backroom?"

"Tempting… so very tempting," Ba'al said with a dreamy smile, "to watch you disintegrated by the security system. But no…. Listen, brute, just stick your sabre in the nodes I've indicated, it shouldn't be too hard. Got it?"

Lord Yvolgar scowled and thumped his chest for a good measure: "Me be back with Grathan's severed head! Burra-RUH!."

"Charming," Ba'al shrugged: "A backwater comedy routine. Very rustic."

When they were back to the first floor, Vette giggled: "I kindda liked his attitude."

"Vette," said Yvolgar, "no offence, but your taste in men needs work."

"Can't argue there," Vette chirped, "there are moments when I like even you. Erm, My Lord Yvolgar."

Lord Yvolgar slashed at the nodes on Ba'al's map with an excessive force and charged into the lordling's room as if he expected twenty assassin droids lying in wait there.

No droids.

Instead, a richly dressed woman of ageless beauty got up from behind the desk to meet them. A young man, presumably Beezlit, remained sitting.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" the lady inquired haughtily, "I am Lady Cellvanta Grathan and I order you to leave my house." The gesture that accompanied the words was dismissive and final, that of someone used to being obeyed.

Lord Yvolgar shook his head with pity: "I am here to kill your son. Leave, Lady Cellvanta, and you will not be harmed."

Lady Grathan looked at him, as if she actually saw him. "Ah. So my husband's folly finally attracted interest of a greater Lord. Rest assured, apprentice, I will not let my son to pay the price. He hasn't been raised to the blade yet, but I am Sith."

A blade hissed out of the heavy sleeve, smoothly, a tongue of a snake-like woman, reaching, stabbing…. Lord Yvolgar parried in a nick of time, saving his lek for the second time that day. Beezlit jumped over the desk yelling that he'd die by his mother's side, and his training vibroblade joined the red lightsabre in its relentless assault.

Vette focused her fire on the son. That, after all, was their assigned task.

Lord Yvolgar was cautious at first, but before long, his hesitance disappeared, his strikes grew hard, overbearing, sending the boy fleeing back to the desk to take cover. Vette kept shooting, pinning the young Grathan there. Yvolgar beat the mother back step by step, till she ran out of room. Pressed into the corner, the lady dropped the blade and kneeled stiffly. Yvolgar didn't notice, ready to strike again, a death blow, so Vette shrieked on top of her lungs and so did Lady Grathan. It must have reached the raging Sith, for the sabre went high, chopping off the curved top of the headdress rather than the head.

"Now what?" Vette murmured watching the tendrils of smoke curl above the singed fabric.

"Listen," Lady Grathan hissed urgently, hugging Yvolgar's knees, "you are strong. Whoever your Master is, he is in for a surprise…. And so could be my pathetic husband. He already nearly ruined us with his feud, but all is not lost yet. My son is of a height with my husband and their voices are similar. If he wears his mask, nobody would suspect a switch. Kill my husband, my Lord, and everyone stands to gain. The Council, your Master, me… and you, because mark my words, a precocious apprentice like you needs powerful friends…"

Yvolgar stepped back, freeing himself from the woman's arms, and let the sabre extinguish. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before trusting himself to speak rather than roar. His voice still was thunderous when he said: "YES. I WANT IT."

He considered the woman and finally added in his normal amused tone: "You traded your son's life for your husband's."

Lady Grathan smiled coyly, her confidence returning fast. She reached out, ran a manicured hand along Yvolgar's thigh: "An easy choice, I assure you. I married into power. He failed to deliver. I will give you the code to his apartment. Once he is dead, take the mask, and come back to me. I will take care of the details."

Vette did not like one bit the way she now looked at Yvolgar, predator-like, but also with a promise. She figured Lord Yvolgar did neither, because before punching in the code by the Lord Grathan's doors, he shook his head and chuckled: "Luck be a Lady, Vette, but it still runs out…."


	7. Dromund Kaas: Luck be a Lady

_AN: A little tribute to Coran of Baldur's Gate. That's if anyone remembers him. And, ouch, all the battle scenes in this chapter... _

7. Dromund Kaas: Luck be a Lady

Lord Grathan obviously subscribed to the same Sith Fashion magazines that Lard Baras did. He wore it better. On a man of a powerful physique the mostly metal attire looked more terrifying than comic. The uninvited guests took a moment to contemplate their unsuspecting host.

"I hope that you don't feel the urge to get a hold of durasteel shoulder pads, starship spikes and bucket helmets, my Lord Yvolgar," Vette murmured. "To, you know, fit in."

"No man with lekku could pull this look off," Lord Yvolgar grimaced, and pushed his protectively further back.

"Yes, they _are_ very pretty, and it _would_ be a terrible pity to puncture it," Vette conceded.

Lord Yvolgar beamed proudly at her for a moment before hailing their mark: "Lord Grathan? Your Lady wife sends her best regards." And let the sabre out.

"He should have attacked," Vette thought desperately, "there is place for chivalry, but a Sith Lord's private chambers ain't it."

"How very kind of the old biddy to send in the entertainers," Lord Grathan responded icily. "Do satisfy my curiosity, alien pup: Why the pink crystal? Was it on sale?"

"It's _magenta!_" the words were out of Vette's mouth before she could stop herself.

"Ah, so it is a genuine preference for tacky." Lord Grathan managed to include her in this assessment. "Let me guess? Lord Baras' latest fool?" With that, the Lord's own sabre was revealed to be of the traditional red kind. _A conservative son of a wampa. _

Lord Yvolgar uncharacteristically kept his mouth shut, circling the opponent warily, before trying a feint. Lord Grathan parried lazily. Vette fired a flurry of bolts, but he reflected them just as easily as Yvolgar's sabre. She released another volley trying to keep the Sith occupied enough for Yvolgar to find an opening. But Yvolgar suddenly threw caution to the wind and reined furiously fast blows on his opponent. Ineffectual blows, to be sure, but relentless.

The elder Sith did something… and Yvolgar froze in mid-air, coughing, fighting for his breath. Vette shot and shot, angrier than a hungry sleen. Her fire was burning the mark now. The Sith roared, tossed Yvolgar aside, and leaped towards Vette. Vette dove, rolled, unloaded a clip into the man's looming mask before she had to work on getting away from the sabre strikes, left, right, left, ouch… behind Grathan's back, Yvolgar landed in a crouch, instead of hitting the floor like a rag-doll, and immediately leaped up into the air, the sabre held high over his head in a two-handed grip. The impact of the sabre coming down on Grathan's neck was devastating, and would have felled a lesser opponent. But Lord Grathan wavered, kept his footing, and wheeled back to slash low, at Yvolgar's feet.

Vette crab-walked away from the circling men, and shot Grathan in the back. Chivalry's foolish anyway!

Yvolgar hit hard, two-handed, screaming with every hit. Lord Grathan stopped paying Vette any attention, relying on his armor to deflect what blaster fire it would. He backpedaled, his blade coming up lower and weaker, lower and weaker, lower and…. Yvolgar's attacks did not lose potency. On the opposite, he seemed to be gathering power to him, strike after strike, then, suddenly, he took a step back, span, clobbered more than slashed, and Grathan's sabre was a fraction too slow. He toppled and hit the floor in a clang of metal.

Vette dropped her arms, blasters suddenly too heavy to hold up. Incredibly, it was done… or not.

Lord Yvolgar rounded on the body; hit it again, and again, before throwing himself against the wall with an enraged scream. The impact dropped him to his knees. He slowly turned round and slipped to the floor, long legs outstretched. There he sat panting, as Vette slowly walked over. The feral expression still made his features barely recognizable, but the red glow around the eyes was growing dimmer. She called out a hesitant: "My Lord?" and Yvolgar's eyes finally focused on her. Green eyes. With pupils and all.

"Wampa's teeth!" he exclaimed, and let his head fall back, to howl with laughter. "I've killed a Sith Lord!"

"Pfft," Vette replied with a becoming modesty.

"_We_ did…" he amended. Vette extended her hand to pull him back to his feet. "Can you walk?"

A barely audible sound emerged from Grathan. Vette whirled to point the blasters at the not quite dead man. The resilient bastard was laughing! "Won't…" he fairly giggled, "won't survive me long. Lord Baras… will… have you…"

Vette shot him.

Lord Yvolgar lifted a querying brow: "Why?"

She shrugged: "Itchy trigger finger, My Lord." Okay, so she'd lied. It's not like she fully understood it herself. It's just finishing off the Sith seemed a small price to pay for not seeing Yvolgar fly off his handle again. Yvolgar seemed to be satisfied. He pried the mask off the corpse and twirled it in his hands: "Let's not keep the Lady of the house waiting."

Lady Cellvanta flowed towards them in a swirl of skirts. She was smiling, and the singed headpiece was gone. Instead, she boasted a curtain of silvery-blond hair. The kind that some Twi'leks find exotic rather than outright ugly. "Ably done, My Lord! Allow me to extend the House Grathan's sincerest congratulations and thanks. There will be a reward waiting for you as soon as I smooth over the misunderstanding with the Dark Council and our assets are available to us." She moved as if to take the mask from Yvolgar; but only placed her hands over his.

"Is not there a bonus on delivery?" Lord Yvolgar said teasingly, holding to his trophy.

"Oh, most assuredly," she replied. Both of them let go off the mask and it clanged to the floor. Lady Cellvanta chuckled throatily and deftly occupied the resulting space. She whispered something into Yvolgar's ear, caught his hand and started leading him away.

"What, any port in the storm?" Vette muttered… or she thought she would. Instead it came out rather more loudly than she intended. And decidedly shrilling.

Lord Yvolgar jolted away from Lady Cellvanta. "Pardon me, my Lady, I have just grew disinterested in the offer."

"Easy come, easy go. But a man of your age, losing _interest_ just like that? On a shriek of a hysterical slave girl? My, my, how peculiarly fragile… Is it typical of your generation?" Lady Cellvanta drawled.

Yvolgar contemplated the nails of his left hand. "Good thing you brought up _age_, My Lady. I've just noticed that we can deal on more _even_ terms if your son is willing to pay up the bonus…"

Red spots of rage bloomed on Beezlit's handsome face, as he rushed forward screaming: "MOTHER! Did you hear what this alien scum's just implied?!"

"Maybe not. Well, I am not into the older men either," Yvolgar seemed unruffled, and still completely consumed by the study of his fingernails. But he was just as mad, Vette realized, only his fury was contained, like boiling water in an outwardly solid kettle. If even someone like her who did not sense the Force could feel it, a Sith should see it as plainly as a gathering storm.

Lady Cellvanta caught her son square on the chest as he tried to speed past her, and shoved him behind her back, her eyes fastened to Yvolgar all the while. "He is just joking, my sweet. So did I. Do not take offence, My Lord…" She bowed to Yvolgar politely, and promised a reward once more. Then Lady Cellvanta made her excuses, and left the room with some dignity, holding Beezlit firmly by the shoulder. That woman is a survivor, Vette thought with a surprising stirring of respect.

"Are you really younger than Beezlit, My Lord?" Vette turned to Lord Yvolgar curiously. "No," he spat out and charged down the hallway. Scared to be left in the compound all alone Vette loped after him. "Hey, did this rabid wompa rat bit you?!"

Lord Yvolgar let her mount the speeder in complete silence, sat behind her. She thought she heard him grit his teeth. She waited. Finally, he whispered right into her ear, his breath touching her cheek: "Never do that again."

Vette pursed her lips: "Yes, My Lord. I understand, My Lord. Next time You Lordship wishes to explore the local midden heaps, I'll leave you to it."

Lord Yvolgar's skin looked two shades darker when he stormed into Ba'al's office. "Done!" he growled. "Tell Baras."

Dri'kill Ba'al looked up form a datapad. "My, my. Look at this chest all puffed up. Proud, are we, brute?"

"Give me a reason," Lord Yvolgar replied dryly, "I beg you."

Ba'al smiled sardonically. "That dense? What _more_ should I do, throw a glove into your face? Is that what you do on Tattoine?"

"Good enough for me," Lord Yvolgar chuckled, and unleashed the lightsabre with a flourish. "And I come form Balmorra!"

Ba'al rose to his feet and came to meet him.

"Vette, take cover," Yvolgar commanded. "This is not your fight."

"My Lord," Vette argued, "It beats me why there has to be a fight at all, but—"

"Please?" he insisted with a sheepish grin, and Vette sighed. "Fine, fine. It's a man thing. Or a Sith thing. Or a Lord Yvolgar thing. Whatever it is, it's a stupid thing! My Lord."

"The slave girl is right, dimwit. Kass is not Balmorra, and I am not a stupid man to overlook back-up," Ba'al said, as the lightsabres connected sending multicolored sparks in the air. To validate his words, the doors burst open admitting half-a dozen guards in Grathan uniform. They opened fire without asking questions. As Yvolgar deflected the flurry of bolts, Ba'al took a couple of lazy, taunting strikes, enough to make his opponent bleed. "I will make my position more secure as I destroy the murderous intruder. Why, I am about to become the most valuable servant of Lady Grathan."

"Post-mortem," Lord Yvolgar grunted, leaped up in the air, drawing the unseen Force to him. He landed lightly in a crouch, but the released force was anything but light. It exploded outwards from him, dropping the squad to the ground. Ba'al alone remained standing. Vette decided that it was time to make it her fight, and started picking off the guards one by one. Child's play.

The two men rained blows in earnest, but then Yvolgar did something odd that sent Ba'al's sabre flying in a wide, glowing arc across the office. Ba'al put his palm up, but not to stay the inevitable fall of the magenta sabre. He pushed Yvolgar back with the Force, and dove for his own weapon. Falling back, Yvolgar hooked Ba'al's ankle with his feet, and both Sith crashed to the ground. Lord Yvolgar tossed his sabre aside in a needlessly gallant gesture.

Vette rushed to pick both sabres, and regretted it immediately. Yvolgar's was hot and so heavy, she was barely able to carry it. However, it was Ba'al's sabre that gave her the creeps, projecting something cold, twisted, coiled…

"YIELD!"

Vette turned to see Yvolgar, knee on prone Ba'al's upper arm, overextending it to the point of snapping. Ba'al screeched with pain, and tapped.

Lord Yvolgar's face lit up with a self-satisfied grin. "The problem with alpha males, Ba'al, is there could only be one." And he released the hold on the Sith.

"Don't!" Vette shrieked, just as Ba'al rolled onto his back, lightening quick, brought up a small pistol aimed at Yvolgar's throat and shot. Yvolgar jerked when Vette screamed, so the shot grazed his neck, cheek and lek, turning into an angry burn almost immediately.

"You're right for once, brute," Ba'al rasped and pushed the trigger again. Lord Yvolgar opened his mouth wide and issued a deafening roar. The sound wave dampened the blaster fire. Ba'al convulsed, and died, a stunned expression stamped into his features.

The room went quite save for the sounds of the distant mayhem on the grounds. Lord Yvolgar cringed and fumbled to stick a med patch to the burn. "Look, Vette," he said apologetically, "I didn't mean to kill him, not really. Couldn't control it at all. Should have had the woman, Vette. I-"

"My Lord," Vette urged him, "we can't stay here."

He looked up at her with a strange, helpless expression: "Maybe he was right, and Vemrin was right, and I am an ignorant—"

"We can't stay here," Vette repeated forcefully, interrupting his soul-digging exercise. It would do nobody any good for him to dissolve into self-loathing tears.

Lord Yvolgar nodded, focused his green eyes on her. Then he got up to his feet, touched the lek to make sure it healed, grabbed his saber in one hand, shoved Vette behind him unceremoniously and walked out of the building to the miraculously intact speeder without a challenge. Oh, a few droids spotted them, but shied away from the drawn blade. Either they had a self-preservation setting on, or Lady Cellvanta was as good as her word.

Vette moved to take the driver's seat, but Lord Yvolgar forestalled her. "I'll get us out, no worries. Hold tight!"

Uneasy, Vette mounted behind him. The perimeter of the courtyard was still a battlefield, but it seemed that the central portion of the estate was quiet. Perhaps the truth with the Dark Council was already arranged.

"Better close your eyes too," Lord Yvolgar warned, and pushed the gas to the max.

When the shouts and the sounds of the blaster fire died down, Vette opened her eyes carefully, and then firmly shut them back again. For a good measure she pressed her face into Yvolgar's back and tightened her grip on his waist until her arms hurt.

"Hey, I need to breathe!" Yvolgar yelled over the roar of the engines.

"Then you should have let me drive!" Vette shouted back at him.

Lord Yvolgar managed to bring them back to the cantina in one piece and polished away enough food to feed an extended family in Nar Shaddaa's slums for two weeks. He chatted, and laughed, and sounded like his old self, and she might as well have dreamed up that helpless look in his eyes. Still, Vette couldn't help but notice that he walked like a drunk man. Could a Sith overindulge with the Force, she wondered? At any rate, the alarms that started going in Vette's head when she first saw Lord Yvolgar rage were not chiming any longer. They _blared_. Oh, Lord Yvolgar was the brightest thing in this corner of the sky, no doubt. And she didn't care to be around to see its fiery end and get caught in the blast to boot.

So, Vette sensibly spent a good chunk of the night searching Holonet for the traces of her old gang.


	8. Dromund Kaas: Look before You Jump

_AN: Thank you everyone for dropping by! Hope Ruvvoy is not too irritating..._

**8. Dromud Kaas: Look before You Jump**

Vette woke up with a start. _What's with the pounding?_ Someone was trying to break down her door! "St-stop it!" she said groggily, "or I will sic a Sith Lord on you."

The door shook a little in response.

"A very _powerful_ Sith Lord!" Vette threatened the intruder louder, and pulled a pillow over her head.

"Thanks for the compliment, Vette!" shouted the familiar voice, "Are you decent?!"

Vette sat up on her bed and rubbed her eyes. "No…"

"Then pull up a pair of pants and let me in!" Lord Yvolgar commanded energetically.

"But it's still dark, My Lord," Vette mumbled crankily.

"It's Dromund Kaas," Yvolgar said reasonably, "They have one hundred twenty three words to distinguish between all the local natural phenomena involving dark and ominous clouds."

Vette gave her pillow the last wistful look and picked up her pants.

"Vette?!" Yvolgar called out after the whole of two seconds had elapsed.

"There are buttons, My Lord," she informed him with as much patience as she could muster. "Do you require a detailed progress report?"

"Sure!" Yvolgar agreed good-naturedly.

She bit her tongue. Ouch, she did hand him that one. Still too sleepy for a witty repartee, Vette settled for a cross: "Well, you are not getting it!" By the sound of it, Lord Yvolgar banged his head on the wall.

When she finally opened the doors, Lord Yvolgar breathed in, smelling of rain, soap and something invigoratingly coniferous. He dragged her to the back of the room, and stuffed a datapad in her hands.

"For the love of the Force, READ IT!"

Vette scrolled through. "Whew, fancy print!"

Yvolgar almost rolled his eyes.

Vette started to read out loud: "By this document… now and henceforth… known as Vette, a freedwoman of Leesch'tzen family… with a grant of Imperial Citizenship valid in all territories-"

"Leesch'tzen? Lord Yvolgar Leesch'tzen?" Vette giggled, and then looked at the document again. "Wait a minute! And I am now a… Leesch'tzen too?"

"Yes, yes, you're a proud scion of my esteemed family. Dad's lawyer said that was the fastest and easiest way the Empire granted the Citizenship to the slaves – as members of the owner's family…" Lord Yvolgar shook his head impatiently and exclaimed: "Vette, do you really care about the legalese?! The important thing is, you are a free citizen of the Empire, and nobody could put this horrible thing around your neck, without risking his!"

They both touched her collar simultaneously. Vette – gingerly; Yvolgar with a disgusted grimace.

"Here, I have the unlock card…" Yvolgar reached behind her neck. Vette heard a soft click, and tried to process Yvolgar's chin at her eye-level (forget chin, his lips, perfectly carved, where just above that…), his encircling arms, and the weight of the collar suddenly disappearing. A result was, she strongly suspected, a rather dumbfound expression when Yvolgar stepped back, the dreadful collar in his hands. Yep, she looked dumber than dumb, no two options there. That what happens when a girl feels fuzzy next to a Sith whose laundry bills run triple for all the blood. Well, _would_ run triple _if_ the lightsabre wounds didn't cauterize so fast, but that was a mere technicality. Just like her sharing his stupid last name.

"So, I am sort of your little sister now?" Vette asked finally finding her voice.

Lord Yvolgar chuckled: "No. Already have one."

"What abo –"

"_And_ two big sisters," Lord Yvolgar interrupted, twisting the collar in his hands, looking uncomfortable. "And a big brother. Vette, honest, Mom and Dad tried hard to keep me in siblings. Let's respect their efforts. I do not need another sister."

"Well," Vette said brightly, "there are worst things to be called than Vette Leesch'tzen. I suppose."

"I am glad you approve," Lord Yvolgar laughed and stretched languidly. "Let's go then."

"What? Where are we going?" Vette asked.

"Breakfast," Yvolgar supplied matter-of-factly.

"Yes, yes, of course!" it was Vette's turn to be impatient, "But after that?"

"Oh, there is this place in the jungles, called the Dark Temple." Lord Yvolgar noticed her eyes widen in alarm and added quickly. "It's just an old ruin, really. Almost a tourist destination. Lard Baras wants an artifact hidden there. The Ravager."

He started down the stairs.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Vette nearly grabbed him by the sleeve. "My Lord, do you mean to tell me you went to see Lard Baras on _an empty stomach_?!"

He nodded. "In retrospect it was for the best."

"And without me?" Vette continued sulkily. Though to be honest skipping a visit to Baras wasn't exactly a bad thing. Yvolgar seemed to be of the same opinion.

"Vette," he said gently, "Lard Baras sent me after the Ravager because he couldn't tear the information from the Republic agent by conventional means. Remember the man in carbonite? He was better off frozen. You didn't need to see that. Trust me."

"I suppose," Vette swallowed something vile that rose in her throat at the thought of Lord Baras' methodology for extracting information. Her collar was a child's toy where the art of torture was concerned. "Thank you, My Lord. But what of this Ravager? Won't it be… worse?"

Lord Yvolgar grew even more subdued: "Were I that man, by now, I would only want to die with honor. The Ravager will tear his mind apart, and that's that. He would not consciously betray what he believes in. Sometimes, it's good enough."

Two hours later Vette peered over the bluff to see Yvolgar land on his feet way below and pump his arm for them to follow. He was yelling something, but his words were carried away by the gusty wind.

A very simply dressed (some might even say undressed) monster by Vette's side made a comment in his hauntingly beautiful tongue. "Let me guess," Vette asked their old acquaintance Ruvvoy, perched atop the cliff by her side, "Lord Yvolgar looks tasty?"

The Rattataki nodded solemnly. "Something like that. Let us follow your friend. I have a foreboding we must." The man stepped off the cliff just like that, while his monster charged the emptiness. A _friend_? Was that an answer to the question that hung unasked when Yvolgar argued with her about that whole little sister thing? Vette closed her eyes, whispered: "I do regret this…" and followed the men through the whistling air of Dromund Kaas.

"See? Piece of cake!" Yvolgar told her as soon as the hard ground drove her knees into her chest near permanently.

"What… what are these?! Why here?" Vette asked pointing a trembling finger at a group of armed guards by the base of the rock outcrop they now occupied. It was unladylike, yet efficient.

"No idea," Yvolgar said dismissively, "but look at the datacron! Is not it beautiful?!"

"It's shiny, My Lord," Vette replied. Lord Yvolgar made a disgruntled noise, and ran his fingers gently over the device, enjoying the sensation of the ancient power washing over him.

Ruvvoy touched her on the shoulder: "Miss, I think these are Lord Hadra's people."

"And?" Vette prompted as Ruvvoy's glance quested towards the horizon once again.

"Lord Hadra was charged with collecting the relics at the approach to the Temple, but she refused to release them to the Empire as was proper. Master Zash told me." Clearly, Ruvvoy had a closer relation with his Master than Lord Yvolgar.

"Perfect!" Lord Yvolgar exclaimed enthusiastically. "So we can take a shortcut to the Temple, and recover the Imperial property in one fell swoop." Vette regretted asking Ruvvoy for details. _Sometimes it's better not knowing._ Yvolgar jumped off the rock and walked over to the guards. The trio followed apprehensively. Well, maybe Khem Val was not apprehensive. Hard to tell, as he did not have an expressive face. Good for sabaak, maybe. _She_ certainly was apprehensive and then some: the guards seem awfully well armed.

"Good fellows!" the Twi'lek Sith Lord started brightly, "please release the unlawfully unappropriated relics to us. You have my word it will be delivered to the Sanctum."

A guard spat on the ground. "Look, Boil, a tail-head with a sabre. And a rat too. What are you, Jedi madcaps? Came to take the Kass single-handed or something?"

"Nah, Paltry, they've been lettin' all sorts of alien trash into the Sith lately. Also adds to Mistress not bein' happy," his companion worried his name-giving feature, and added with an unpleasant smirk. "Don't like it either. A Sith should be a Sith, ye know what I mean, Paltry?"

The short exchange (with an additional short comment from Yvolgar relating to men's own ancestry) ended with Vette finding herself in Lord Yvolgar's embrace for the second time this day. The shootout was fierce. Yvolgar got busy pounding on Boil. Ruvvoy 's energies and focus were spent on purple lightening. Val flanked Yvolgar. And Vette, Vette got caught in the crossfire from the two guards whose names they were not fortunate enough to learn. Fire erupted on all sides of her. She dodged desperately, returned the favor, and felt pain spreading through her abdomen. Then, before she got surprised or frightened by the intensity of it, she felt nothing…

Lord Yvolgar's voice came from a distant place. "Are you sure?!" he was saying at the edge of darkness.

"Yes, I am," came a soft calm reply.

_Lord Ruvvoy_, Vette remembered. _The Rattataki slave turned Sith_.

"Then why is not she moving?" Lord Yvolgar demanded urgently.

"A shock, perhaps. Have Faith, Yvolgar." Lord Ruvvoy suggested. He obviously didn't spend enough time with Lord Yvolgar.

"Something is wrong! She's too pale!" Yvolgar insisted.

"Her skin is the same shade as always. Release her," Ruvvoy sighed, "let her draw a breath in."

"Since when are you an expert on Twi'lek's complexion?" Yvolgar asked sulkily, but obeyed.

Vette finally managed to move her lips. "Next time," she whispered, "look before you jump, My Lord. Deal?"

"I promise. Sorry, Vette, I am so sorry," Lord Yvolgar said looking heartbroken, "I've gotten carried away again, and you've paid the price."

"I. WILL. LEARN. " his face froze into a determined mask after this oath. He waited for the flow of Force to revive her enough to try to climb back up to her feet. Afterwards, as they carved their path through the camp, he kept pouncing on anyone as much as looking in her direction. It was slightly irritating, but oddly flattering.

Surprisingly, Lord Hadra herself proved to be much less of a challenge than her men. Vette didn't feel like they were cheated or anything. Beyond Hadra's camp the jungles were being cleared for a new subdivision of the glorious capital. "I guess they want to make bigger than Coruscant?" Vette wondered studying at the size of the infrastructure being laid out.

"They won't be able to," Ruvvoy replied. "The Dark Temple will not give ground." Vette found herself glancing towards a dark mass rising above the tree tops. It was very close now. She could swear she felt the _presence_. Something malevolent. Definitely not a tourist destination!

"Why do you need to go to the Temple anyway, My Lord?" Vette asked Ruvvoy to combat her unease.

"I am no Lord," Ruvvoy said softly, and looked at Yvolgar's back ahead of them. "Neither is he, Miss."

Vette shrugged. "I don't know…"

Ruvvoy's pale lips curved up in an absent smile: "You do. All chains are broken."

Vette thought that was the end of it, but Ruvvoy spoke up again: "My Master saw it in a dream that I should humble myself before a ghost hidden in the Temple. A powerful relic will be given to her through my obeisance."

Vette stared at the placid sorcerer: "Really? You set off to grovel before a ghost in a creepiest place because your Master had some stupid _dream_?"

"All chains will be broken," Ruvvvoy replied looking through her. It was a non-sequitur, but for him it obviously made sense. Khem added his two credits worth. The Dashade seemed unperturbed by the fact that the last person who could understand him, save for his Master, died three thousand years ago give or take a century. Why Ruvvoy could interpret Khem, Vette couldn't fathom. Last time she checked, they did not offer the long-dead language courses to the slaves in the mines. Though most people might run for the mines given the choice between the two….

"Good talk," she said to no one in particular, and then there was nothing for it, but to enter the Dark Temple grounds.


	9. Dromund K: Almost a Tourist Destination

_/AN: I am condensing quest-lines in this chapter, focusing on one questgiver that interested me the most. I hope you'll forgive me this infidelity to the game material. Thank you all for coming along for the ride! And... re-uploaded again, more typos. Crass. I thought I've cleaned it..._

**9. Almost a Tourist Destination**

Frankly, Vette had had her doubts about the Dark Temple making the Holonet's _Top 10 Places to Be This Year_ before they came upon a guard post and an aging Sith Lord. Now these tentative shades of uneasiness turned into an unshakable conviction. This particular Sith didn't wear a metal mask Baras-style, but he should have. His face belonged on a ghost of a maniac killer who was buried alive after a fortnight of hard partying.

"Did he too have a Jedi friend? Like Moff Kilran?" Vette muttered stopping dead in her tracks and staring.

"No," Lord Yvolgar replied quietly, "The Lord chose to let the Taint show."

"Oh," Vette said, "That! Of course, of course…." She thought she'd managed to pull off the look of being in on the joke.

Yvolgar smiled, just a tiny bit: "When one compels the Force the way we do, the effort is hard on the body. Some Sith Lords find that suppressing the effects is wasteful or vane, or… I don't know. Maybe they like it that way."

Vette stared at the pale veined face, cracked lips, and the bloodshot eyes. Unlike Yvolgar's, they didn't change color, and were an unsettling shade of red. "Well, I can't see the appeal. He looks sickening." A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Does it hurt?"

Yvolgar and Ruvvoy exchanged a glance and remained silent. Vette decided not to press the Sith she had fallen in with. They were big boys, after all, and knew what they were doing, and no good thing ever came from questioning a Sith, so—

"Lord Yvolgar? Are you sure you know what you are getting into?" Bantha's tail! Well, can't take the words back once they are out.

"No. But that's half the thrill!" Lord Yvolgar grinned and squeezed her shoulders, quick and friendly. Then he went over to greet the man who inspired their discussion.

"My Lord," he said, "I am Yvolgar. And my friend here is Lord Ruvvoy. We are apprenticed to Lord Baras and Lord Zash. We ask your leave to enter the scared grounds to behold the ancient wonders."

_Well, look at him not mentioning Balmorra!_

The old man cackled. "Baras and Zash, eh? Upstarts, lucky upstarts, both of them. And you two are even greener than your two-bit Masters, and not a drop of Blood betwixt you. Still, might be your sorry lot will be a touch better than the Imperial dimwits. Those are more hindrance than help."

"And I take it, you need our help with something?" Yvolgar asked in a slightly strained tone. Good grief, who didn't need their help in this Galaxy?!

"There _is_ a need here. But whose need is stronger, his or ours? Or the other's?" Ruvvoy mused.

The Sith Lord cocked a thinning brow at the Rattataki. The effect was disgusting, as the veins became more prominent, moving like worms beneath his skin. In his condition, there could have been the actual invertebrates there too. "Do you see the other's will?"

"Yes," Ruvvoy said, and added resolutely: "The Past must be stopped, to save the Present."

"Exactly right!" the Sith exclaimed, "exactly right. And from a rat! Why, I'd never!"

Yvolgar's eyes narrowed at this casual insult, but Ruvvoy looked non-pulsed. So, Yvolgar just shrugged his shoulder, in the _let the kid pick his own battles _manner, and interjected smoothly: "My Lord, if Lord Ruvvoy and you found the common ground, should _we_ be off then? By your leave, of course." He indicated Vette and himself.

"Oh, you certainly have my leave to enter," the Lord said smirking. "What's more, I now see that you _must_ enter. Listen closely, young Apprentices. The great Lords of the Sith of old stirred in the Temple when the ignoramus on the Council sent the expedition of slaves and brutes into the ruins. Some relics should not be touched! Now, the true powers are taking over the Temple, and if the spirits are not sealed in, they would rent the Galaxy asunder!"

Lord Yvolgar glanced at Ruvvoy. The Sorcerer stood still, drinking in the Lord's words. Thus reassured, Lord Yvolgar bowed: "I am convinced. We'll go save the Galaxy, since we are going that way anyhow, My Lord…?"

"Lord Alaric," the man responded grumpily. "Find the torch I gave to the softheaded Imperials, weld the tomb doors shut, and pray you are not too late. Beware of anyone on the grounds. Go."

"Peculiar," Yvolgar said, as they resumed walking, "Ruvvoy, how are you with a soldering iron? I admit, I haven't been trained in this particular method of dispatching the ancient overlords."

"You will know what to do," Ruvvoy replied simply, and Yvolgar groaned whether in protest at the prospect of manual labor, or at Ruvvoy's reserved ways. Maybe both.

Suddenly, moss-covered natural stone underfoot gave way to a paved path. It was built on an ancient scale, to allow ten infantry man or two rancor riders to walk abreast, or to simply put a visitor at awe. The road ended in a staircase of similar unrestrained proportions. They were unafraid of being too grandiose back then. The gray stone rose, step after step, to a wide plaza bordered by simple stelas: the shapes of power, the foci. Purple flame tongues clung to these domineering ornaments, fleeting yet eternal. All sounds diminished, subdued by something that still coiled at the core of each stone block. A memory of will that carved it, perhaps.

But when they climbed to the top of the staircase, the wary silence gave way. They could no longer hear their footfalls, nor the grating of rubble stepped upon, nor the pounding of heart. The chorus of moans, keening and roars flooded the plaza as if on command. And there were dark, twisted figures everywhere, clawing their faces, holding their heads or staring into space, unseeing.

"They are all desperate to get away," Ruvvoy observed. "Some to unleash their wrath, some to escape being ravaged."

"Ruvvoy," Yvolgar replied, lighting up his sabre and taking the point, "You know I like you, and you had a tough life, but _shut the blazes up_!"

Even before he finished, they were set upon by the closest group of creatures who looked humble and ordinary, but acted nothing but. Slaves, imperial soldiers, acolytes… all of them banded together, not observing any difference in station, intent only on one thing – to eradicate the intruders. They went into battle, eyes glowing, with strange battle cries on their lips. "_Pharshol!" _they screamed, or "_Dark Path!_"

Fortunately, the lot of them was far less fierce than the guards in the Lord Hadra's compound. The companions vanquished the wretches in a few blinks of an eye. Vette was about to walk away, when she noticed a dull bling of metal on one of the bodies. She leaned closer for a look and found a large dark coin, and a few strange things, broken and old, on the fallen madmen. She'd toss them away, but her three team mates all went rigid, bright-eyed and short of breath when they saw her loot. They touched each piece with awe, and treated the garbage like something precious. She could barely contain her laughter. Hey, if being Sith makes you go misty-eyed over an ancient chamber pot, and a broken one at that, maybe the Force Sensitivity is not all that enviable.

"Fine, fine," Vette said, "you keep the junk if you want, but I ain't carrying it!" Yvolgar divided the strange relics between his own and Ruvvoy's packs, while Khem sang a hymn or two… or maybe he was telling them his ears were itching. Or his thighs looked too big in that loincloth. Vette's did not want to get disappointed by asking Ruvvoy to translate.

Regardless, she had bigger things to worry about than Khem's thoughts: the final flight of stairs led to a _gigantic_ archway. Really, when one builds a road sufficiently wide for two rancor riders to give one another a huge berth that, at least, is practical. You never know what traffic would be like in ten centuries' time, so you might as well be very optimistic and plan for growth. But building the doors to accommodate three times the height of an average humanoid?! Excessive, vain and….

_And it is too late to turn the tail and run. _

The group went under the arch, and Ruvvoy left at a clip, with Khem in tow. Vette shook her head ruefully: "If I were him, I wouldn't be in a hurry to humiliate myself before a ghostly date. No matter what my master said…"

"Maybe he just wants to get it over with," Lord Yvolgar replied jovially, "or maybe he is interested in reporting the success to his Master _sooner_. I hear Lord Zash is quite alluring. Lucky dog!"

Vette gave him a stern look: "You've sneaked a peek, didn't you, My Lord? How about respecting his privacy?"

"Hey, ease off, Miss Mind-Your-Own-Business!" Lord Yvolgar lifted his palm, staying her accusations, "I _might_ have run into Lord Zash, purely on accident… Besides, no skin off my nose if anyone goes gawking at Lard Baras, so I can't see why – Wait! What are you pointing at?!"

Vette didn't just point. She also stared wide-eyed at a tall Twi'lek that came into view in his restless progress around a dais right behind Lord Yvolgar. His (the unfamiliar Twi'lek's that is, not Lord Yvolgar's) skin was weather-worn; his clothes were poor and dusty, but that wasn't what startled Vette. Around his mouth, there were burns, in an unmistakable shape: someone bridled him once with a red-hot iron chain. And she that was not why Vette was staring at him either. It was the purple glow, the same that coiled lustily around the pyramids, and the sensation of power that went with it. Her eyes glued to the man, Vette dropped to her knees, as if someone hamstrung her.

Lor Yvolgar leaped upon the dais in one spectacular move, and held the sabre to the man's throat: "Who do you think you are to control my friend!"

The man spared him a glance and said softly: "I am Lord Pharshol, the Builder of the Temple. Bow to me."

"Not a chance!" Lord Yvolgar exclaimed, or tried to. The last word turned into scream. The man released Vette (who immediately scrambled back to her feet) and jolted Yvolgar with cruel lightning bolts. The air crackled with electricity, the fresh smell of discharge mixed with that of the burning dust, and Yvolgar went on screaming. Vette yelled over his tortured voice: "_STOP, STOP, STOP IT, damn you!"_

"Will you serve me?" the Twi'lek asked. Vette nodded. The Force storm winked out as suddenly as it started.

Yvolgar glared at Vette once he recovered his footing. Then he cracked a shaky smile and scratched the back of his head. "Thanks the Force for Lekku," he muttered, "that would have been a disaster of a hairstyle."

Vette smiled back. "Thanks the Force. For Lekku."

"Silence!" commanded Lord Pharshol, seemingly pained by their levity. "You _must_ bring my Apprentice, Anyarah, back to me. The wicked Dark Path assassins abducted her while she was doing my bidding. I need her. I must have her." For a moment he looked almost lost, but resumed the lordly stance so fast, Vette might have imagined it. With a wave of his hand he dismissed them. And presumably pointed them in the direction where Anyarah went, all in one gesture. _An economical bastard._

"Well," Yvolgar commented, descending the dais, "I am wondering who role-plays our little Ms. Anyarah in this drama. This so-called Lord was hewing stones in a quarry for most of his life, unless I miss my guess. Even though he's as powerful as the real thing now. Mad theatre!"

He sighed wistfully: "I hope she's actually a girl."

Vette snorted: "I hope, Anyarah is a Tusken with a million of well-tended warts and festering sores!"

Lord Yvolgar's happy laughter sounded odd in the very dark temple: "Really? I would have never guessed you were that kinky!"

Vette felt almost good. It was all a pretend, so how bad could it be? Sure, the tricky Pharshol caught Yvolgar unaware, but a man forewarned is a man forearmed.

"My Lord," Vette suggested when they paused to listen in at the foot of a spiral staircase for hidden enemies, "I'll be on the lookout for the Ravager. I figure, the moment we have it, we call a shuttle and get away from this place."

Lord Yvolgar shook his head negatively. "There is welding to be done yet. So, let's see if can beat Ruvvoy to the torch."

"Ah, the Welding for the Galaxy thing!" Vette exclaimed. "Of course!" Then she thought a moment. "My Lord, do you perchance know what that torch looks like? Or the Ravager for that matter?"

"No," Yvolgar said without a shade of concern in his voice, "but I bet if we shake the possessed wretches enough, it will come tumbling out."

"Great," Vette sighed, "that's just great. Note to self: next time take down the small details like that."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Vette. It will work out." Yvolgar advised kindly, making her grit her teeth. "Really, Vette, it always does."


	10. Dromund Kaas: Dark Theatre

_AN: Hi good folks! Thank you for reading. This is a longer chapter, and editing is always harder by some reason on the longer chapters. If you see grammar problems, disjointed sentences, bad connections, unclear stuff, please, let me know, I will gratefully re-edit! And thank you, thank you again and again for coming along for the ride!_

**10. Dark Theater**

"She is a Sith!" Vette screamed in a whisper. She didn't know she had a talent for a dramatic undertone in her.

"She is a girl!" Lord Yvolgar replied in the same key. "Here goes your big date night, Vette, sorry!" He grinned and called out in a completely normal voice: "Apprentice Anyarah?"

The woman stopped contemplating the lightsabre in her hands, and lifted a disheveled head to look up at the pair of Twi'leks with murky, unhappy eyes. She looked trapped, but it had little to do with them finding her in a tiny room tacked at the end of a winding hall.

Not that it was her jailors' fault. They actually did well: once a storage space for spare cult objects, the make-do prison was one of the better improvisations in the Temple. It did have a feel of a prison cell. The Dark Adepts themselves, well, they were as sorry a lot as the rest of the Temple's possessed.

Killing them was an act of mercy, or so Vette tried to tell herself, when her head wasn't spinning, and she did not have to focus on chasing away the inklings of many consciousness that grabbed at her mind. Once, she wanted nothing more than to tear a heart out of a still warm body and devour it. The other time, she was dead-set to call on the Force to Heal Yvolgar, and would have gotten there, but for the punch that sent her sprawling to the ground. She nearly regretted getting her wits back after that one. It could have come in handy! Yvolgar claimed he did not sense the tiny probing claws of the ghostly minds.

"Anyarah?!" the Sith woman wept. "Am I Anyarah?" She grabbed Lord Yvolgar's hands and searched his face feverishly. Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. "Tell me! Tell me? I remember… I remember being a Lord! I remember leaving the city, the big city of lights! But she says, she says I am an apprentice, a mere apprentice, and there is no city, only this Temple in the jungle!"

"Shhh," Lord Yvolgar said gently, "Shhh, Anyarah, it is going to work out, once you return to your Master."

"My Master is dead!" The woman started screaming, completely unhinged, but then her yells dropped to a defeated whisper: "She is… Or is… she? Help me, please, help me. Am I…? What am I? Who?"

"You are Apprentice Anyarah," Yvolgar insisted, and Vette sucked in her breath in surprise, "your Master is Lord Pharshol. He is well, and he expects you. The Dark Path adepts confused your mind, that's all."

"I see. I recall it now. The Dark Path. Lord Pharshol," the woman released Yvolgar, and Vette noted color returning to his wrists where she squeezed him too hard. Honestly, random women grabbing Yvolgar's hands was starting to get old.

The she-Sith laughed, trying to cover her embarrassment: "What a pleasant illusion, me, a Sith, and a powerful one, in that big city! Well, wish I could stay and chat, but I must hurry back."

"Lady, I can accompany you, to see that you arrive safely." Lord Yvolgar offered gallantly.

The woman refused, saying she'd be on her toes now, and won't let the devious assassins catch up with her again. Then she scooted away: the small, shuffling steps, the bowed head – a picture of a novice.

"Whyever did you do it?! How could you?!" Vette burst out once "Anyarah" turned the corner.

Lord Yvolgar shrugged: "Dromund Kaas is teeming with the Sith, and most of them would run an alien plebe like our Pharshol wannabe through for just being in their way. Turnabout is a fair play."

"Well, what if she wasn't like that?" Vette argued, taken aback by his strange logic.

"Then she would be happier with a pretend Lord, than with a real one," Lord Yvolgar replied with a sudden conviction, "besides I think he cares for her a great deal."

"Did you glean that through the special connection you two shared while he was _torturing_ you?! My Lord, this madman nearly killed you!"

Yvolgar's eyes almost budged out of their sockets, before he bent over with laughter. "Vette," he groaned in merriment, "Vette, seriously?! After I've killed Grathan… you still… believed… believed a puny lightning bolt… could kill me?! This is a theatre, remember?!"

"This is NOT funny!" Vette screamed at him. "You should have winked or something! My Lord! I was…! I've thought…!" She ran short of words, she was so mad, so she kicked him on the shins, and started pounding on his chest ineffectually, tears welling up in her eyes at the thought of how stupid-scared she was-

Yvolgar stopped laughing as abruptly as he's started and caught her flailing hands. "Vette, it's a sweet thing you did back there. Thanks. I'll remember."

Vette snapped her mouth shut. _That_ sounded suspiciously like a vow. And there were his lips again, the carved wave, moving to form the words. She froze. He let go of her hands. The whole hitting a Sith with her bare fists episode left her completely out of breath, so she decided for once to keep silent.

The resolution became a touch tough to stick to when Yvolgar started whistling an old marching tune, but she applied herself to it. Even after he provided her with a conclusive proof that he was as tone deaf as he was enthusiastic. _A man is a Force sensitive progeny, but can't carry a tune?!_

Between the whistling and the recurring flashes of anger and embracement, Vette found herself to be the only one not in high spirits when they reached Lord Pharshol. The two Twi'lek Lords all but glowed with glee at the sight of one another. Pharshol looked ready to hug Yvolgar, but mercifully settled for a simple: "You served me well."

With an exaggerated wink at Vette (_too late, my Lord, too late!_), Lord Yvolgar bowed and asked: "Oh, Lord Builder, maybe in your infinite wisdom you have heard of a device called Ravager, said to be hidden in your Temple? I seek it."

"Ah, that old thing," Lord Pharshol mused. "Mmgh, yes, yes. Lord Vacuus' minions found the device. The Lord now and again breaks it apart, and then has it reassembled. It provokes a terrible fury in him by whatever reason. So odd. But who could fathom a madman!"

"Indeed," said Lord Yvolgar with an ingratiating smile, "indeed."

Lord Vacuus felt very differently about Yvolgar than Lord Pharshol. No hugs there, but a burning blade cruelly aimed for his neck. Lord Yvolgar parried, and Vette guessed from the relaxed set of his shoulders that he did not think much of his opponent. She leaned back, and unloaded both clips. With luck, Lord Yvolgar could dispatch him before the battle lust takes a complete hold of him. _Please…Pretty please… _It did not take long to get her wish. Yvolgar played this time, rather than fought. But the script ended with a real death nonetheless. It wasn't _all_ a theatre.

"When did I become so callous about killing people?" Vette wondered out loud on the heels of joy that flashed through her when Vacuus died.

Yvolgar chuckled: "Winning feels good. The alternative does not hold much appeal."

"Yes, My Lord, I don't harbor a death wish," Vette admitted, "but the thieving was kinder. It's only money after all, not the end of the galaxy…"

"A Jedi would say there is no Dea- Oh! Look! Told you it will turn up!" Lord Yvolgar pointed at some sort of an instrument leaning against a large chest by the wall. A huge torch. Yvolgar lifted the thing as if it were no heavier than a feather, and slung it across his shoulders. "Well, we've beat Ruvvoy to it!"

"Shh, give me a moment…" On a lark, Vette sliced the lock and flipped the chest opened. It was full of metal chunks etched with runes and pictograms. Even disjointed, the pieces had a faint foul aura about them.

"Lord Yvolgar," Vette called weakly, "come look. Is this what I think it is?"

"Aha!" Yvolgar peeked in. "Well, hello, Ravager! That Lord Vacuus was a pack rat if I saw one!" And he gave her thumb up with his free hand, while keeping the torch balanced with another.

"You do realize just how incredibly lucky you are, don't you?" Vette's asked.

"Luck, destiny, or my tight keister – who cares what it is, so long as it works! Mmgh, let's go try the torch out. I think we've passed an aura-infused door while chasing after Anyarah," Lord Yvolgar raced forward, and Vette assessed his self-proclaimed tight parts. It was a rewarding pursuit, but she still figured that destiny and luck played a role too. Or, maybe it was the shoulders. Did he actually put on more muscle or was it the effort of hoisting the torch that made it pop like that?

_Oops._

She nearly ran into her subject who came to a sudden stop. The door! "Good thing we didn't have to fight anyone," Vette said blushing hard, and trying to get her mind off the very wrong track, as Yvolgar swept the torch over his shoulder to hold it like a cannon, and braced himself. Yes, he did put on a few pounds of good stuff. "Seeing you are so encumbered."

Yvolgar grinned sheepishly: "I could take the rubble here with my hands tied behind my back, shackled feet and blindfolded. And naked."

Okay, this conversation was not exactly alleviating her blush. "Didn't your mother teach you not to boast?" Vette groaned.

"Noooo…" Yvolgar droned, his brows rising in mock surprise. "I vividly recall her telling absolutely everyone _for days_ that La'ya went potty for the first time. Given the trivial nature of the achievement, I doubt mom is a staunch supporter of the anti-boasting league."

"I'll remember, my Lord," Vette mumbled taken aghast by this little anecdote, "that humility is not a virtue your family holds in high esteem."

"You got it!" He shifted the drill, closed his eyes and commanded: "Stand back and turn away! It's going to be hellishly bright and dangerously hot, unless I miss my guess!"

She did exactly that, but could still hear the jet of flames hitting the metal. The metal bubbled and the stench of burning filled her nostrils. Then she heard an unfamiliar voice, calm and pleasant.

"Greetings visitors. Do stop for a moment."

Vette whirled back. Sure, there was no threat she could detect, but this Temple was not exactly a friendly place! The Voice originated right in the middle of the small inferno the torch created. Yvolgar was startled too, and turned off the plasma stream. A faint holo of a man in horned but open-faced helmet (the best of both worlds!) shimmered into view before the smoldering door.

"My body is dead, I suppose," the holo said thoughtfully, "since my internal clock is thousands years ahead of the day I remember as yesterday."

He looked Yvolgar over. "You are a Force-Sensitive, young man. Tell me, have you heard of the Sith?"

"I am one, My Lord," Lord Yvolgar replied. "I am Lord Yvolgar apprenticed to Lord Baras."

"And does the Code still speak of passion and power?" the hologram asked.

Lord Yvolgar beamed and recited:

"_Peace is a lie, there is only passion.  
Through passion, I gain strength.  
Through strength, I gain power.  
Through power, I gain victory.  
Through victory, my chains are broken.  
The Force shall free me."_

There was a pause, as the eerie man watched him with a slight smile. "I can do it in the ancient language of the Sith as well!"

The hologram chuckled: "I don't doubt your memory, Lord Yvolgar. Alas, even after all these years, the words are as seductive as they are poisonous."

"I am Kel'eth Ur, and I believed once that passions freed a sentient being, put _conscious _above the _unconscious_…. But it is a trap. The more power we gain, the more we are tempted to tap the primal core of all the emotions, the very root, for it is the strongest. And then we feed on fear, the deepest fear of cold, and dark and death," he shook his head, "and therein is the limit to what seems boundless. No control, no direction – until it overtakes our will rather than breaking the chains on the soul and letting the Force flow."

Yvolgar lowered himself to the floor where he was standing and sat there cross-legged during the speech. The drill lay forgotten by his side. His eyes were intent on the ancient man. "I cannot feel fear, and I have tried, Master Ur, by the Force I have tried!" he said, "but I have lost myself to rage, and I wish I knew how to harness it, before it's too late."

Ke'leth Ur nodded. "Rage is at the primal core next to the fear. Simple. Basic. Enslaving. You have to learn to recognize the emotions, my Lord, but stay disengage to let the mind do its work." Ur sighed. "I have mused on it for thousands of years, it seems, and now I am out of time to teach even one student. Mistakes, all grave mistakes. Well, no undoing what has been done."

He gave Yvolgar a long, almost calculating look. "Perhaps you will find my journals interesting, friend. I can upload my memory core for you before the energy that animates me is exhausted."

"I will consider it a gift," Yvolgar said differentially, and dug up a spare datapad from his pack.

"Promise me to add to it, and to teach," Kel'eth said, extending a ghostly hand, "I believe my doctrine is sound, and the Sith need to find the way of peace and control over self before handling the Force."

"Not many Sith I know would buy into that," Vette thought, "not even Yvolgar."

Yvolgar chewed on his lip. "I will do what I can," he replied after a pause, and Ur nodded. "It will not be easy, I understand. But there is always a spring, however humble, that starts a river."

After Ur was gone, Yvolgar stuffed the datapad back into his pack and finished the job. "Let's go," he commanded briskly.

"What about Ruvvoy?" Vette's asked. "And Khem?"

"If Khem thought you were his afternoon snack, you won't miss him either," Yvolgar waved a dismissive hand. "And Ruvvoy… well, he chose to leave, Vette. I am decidedly against stepping between a man and his destiny. Particularly _this_ man. There was something lying in wait for him here, for many years, and by now it's far too late to do anything about it."

"What?!" Vette's exclaimed. "You let him go when you knew something… something ominous like that? And with this hungry monster?"

Yvolgar looked directly at her, his eyes suddenly colder than the fabled crystals of Ilum: "I was not the only one who knew. He felt it too, and far stronger than I. Vette, Ruvvoy is not just another Sith. He is _more_."

Then, he repeated himself, quieter, and almost bitterly: "Ruvvoy _chose_ to leave."

Vette felt like a little kid locked away in a closet by the big kids, so she wouldn't mess up their game. _Sith…_ _Men… Oh, Yvolgar, Yvolgar…. _

She yearned for a simple life of space banditry, where if there was a trick she did not know, she could pick it up in a jiffy. And where she would not be afraid to start fancying one of the crew.


End file.
